Present bearings
by HalfjeFijnVolkoren
Summary: The timeline doesn't add up as Chakotay is confronted with the vast changes he and his fellow crewmembers have undergone over the years. J/C and others.
1. Chapter 1

**I wonder if disclaimers are legally necessary on a site called ´fanfiction´ but..better safe than sorry so.. I don´t own any of it, all the kudo's go to Paramount!**

**This one's a little experimental...please be kind :) **

**Day 1**

I've forgotten my dream. _Too bad,_ _it think it was a good dream._ It's okay though -she smells nice. Very nice even. Perhaps it wasn't even a dream, perhaps it was that drowsy state between sleeping and being awake. I take a deep breath and its only now that I move that I feel her warm skin on mine. In an attempt to thoroughly enjoy the lazy softness of the bed and the smoothness of her body I squirm and bury myself deep under the duvet. The movement leaves my chest tickled - I realise her hair is spread across my upper body. I'm reluctant to awaken, this bed is more comfortable than my bed back on the ship. _And thank heavens; no snoring._ My unadjusted eyes open one at a time and my right hand struggles to coordinate my fingers towards the thick curls on my bare chest. I force my sight to sharpen and as the pitch black hairlocks finally come into focus I try to remember her name; _Sarah, Sophie? _I close my eyes. Five more minutes. Just five more minutes.

"_Elena!"_

Adrenaline rushes through my veins and my muscles tense up. A loud banging is almost causing the authentic bedroom door to buckle._ Right... Elena. _How could I forget? I whipe the sleep out of my eyes and with my fingers still digging at both sides of the bridge of my nose I watch as she has already put on a silk kimono.

"_Mio Caro! _ _I'm coming! Uno momento!"_ She yells at the door.

I sit up to watch her run around the room, frantically picking up my things. Her long hair falls down her shoulder at every piece of clothing she picks up from the floor and is flipped back as she adresses me with rushed words of passion. "Chakotay, dearest,you must leave," I nod foolishly, still somewhat displeased with my sudden consciousness. "I shall never forget your kindness, you understand me like no other.." For a moment she looses herself in a look of longing but soon recovers at another series of loud bangs.

"_Pronto_!" She tosses me my clothes and opens a sliding door. The sound of screeching seagulls fills the brightly lit bedroom and the salty breeze of the sea chills my neck and shoulders.

I struggle to release myself from a rumpled sheet and stumble out of the luxurious bed. Her elegant handgestures make up for all the grace I lack.

"Say you will contact me soon, _mio caro_.."

She looks at me with a pale, genuine face. Armed with high cheekbones and large eyes I'm sure her face could disarm any man. The beauty mark above her bloodred lips moves as she speaks with the fire only a woman of Italian herritage can possess.

"_Elena! Let me in!"_ The door stands brave now but will soon dwindle under her husbands muffled pounding.

Not bothering with briefs I clumsily manage to pull up my brown pants and with one leg already outside the door I gently readjust the robe that had slid off her shoulder. She inhales sharply as I slightly caress her collarbone in the process.

"Promise me you will not forget me." Thick black eyebrows curl together as she pleads.

I collect her slender hand and brush my lips against her palm just above the wrist as I whisper "you are the most intriguing Italian I've ever met," I lean in close to her ear as I continue, "how could you not be a constant distraction?" Just as I turn away the door gives in to the hurricane that is her husband. I can still hear her sigh in response to my dubious compliment as I'm standing on a deck and only now realise I'm on a boat.

I take a few decisive strides towards the stern before I jump over the railing and onto a wooden boarding plank. I don't quite find my balance but in my momentum I somehow manage to reach the pier. My sockless feet don't seem to fit my leather boots anymore and as I'm struggling to squeeze them in I look up at the antique sailboat "What a colossal beauty" I say to no one in particular. My reverie is rudely interrupted as a loud crack splinters a wooden board right next to my feet. I startle and drop my bundle of clothes.

"_Che Fortuna!"_ A hairy man dressed in a hawaiian shirt stands on the boatdeck next to..._Helena?_ He's holding a musket that had been hanging above the bed only moments ago.

"_Are you insane?!"_ I yell at him.

"_Vaffanculo! Stay away from my wife. Pig!"_ He shouts back.

My boots produce hollow thumps and the planks shudder under my feet as I run down the pier. I run as fast as I can but seagulls fly off ahead of me when a second shot is fired and missed. The couple on the boat is still caught in a heated arguement and I see them both waving their hands in disbelief as I jog further down the harbor.

There's a cold breeze that the sun will soon make up for. I take a deep breath and continue the jog past vendors who are putting up stalls and cleaning fish for todays market.

I'm not going to make my transport. B'Ellanna won't be pleased.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

I'm an hour late by the time I step off the public shuttle and onto the spacestation where the Val Jean is currently docked. B'Ellanna greets me with folded arms and raises one of her eyebrows so high it almost collides with her ridges. "I was starting to think I had to tell Ayala to postpone prelaunch procedures." I lean against the shuttledoor-panel and covertly shove in a chipp I had disconnected earlier -my way to avoid the fee now that my creditchit lies at some planetside pier. "Lost your shirt watching a boxing match, huh?" She asks.

B'Ellanna's belted holster proudly places her phaser high on the hip she leans on. It adds even more fierceness to her Klingon appearance and contrasts her otherwise petite form. "Well, it was quite the rumble." I say. We share a knowing smile and she hands me Tuvoks report on the Federation weaponsfreighter that we're about to heist.

=/\= =/\= =/\= =/\=

Tuvok greets me with a curtious nod as we enter the bridge of our weathered yet trustworthy Jean Val Jean; just like it's namesake it has proven to withstand the hardest of endurances with an almost human determination.

I'm still buckling up my fresh attire as Paris turns in his seat "Captain! That must've been quite the match if it lasted all through the night!" With a rough pull B'ellanna pivots his pilot seat futher to face her. "Hey new-meat, you get your smart-ass-rights _after_ you show your worth, understood?" she says. Mischief radiates from his eyes as he replies "I'll just approach you later for those ass-rights then?" She leans in close to his face "I wouldn't if you value your teeth." Her hiss seems to have its effect as Paris holds up his hands in surrender and presses his lips together in a faint line.

"Quiet, both of you." I say calmly. Ayala, Tuvok, Paris and Torres; all fall silent and listen as I give them my orders. "We have a bumpy ride ahead of us but I expect our latest recruits to give us their best performance. Paris, you know the Fleets latest flightpatterns, run simulations to parry them and update the auto-pilot. B'Ellanna, readjust targetting parameters to Federation weaponsystems." She nods and heads for engineering. "...and B'Ellanna, check with maintenance to see if they got that chamber-temperature under control, we'll need the extra phaser."

"Right" she replies. I know the easiest way to lull her agressive urges is to preoccupy the circuits in her brain with analytical thought. Somehow Paris has a nag for getting under her skin however and I might have to adress them later; it's getting on my nerves

"-Tuvok, start allround sensorweeps, and not just for Federation signatures; I want a report on every unscheduled flight or unexpected phenomenon. No surprises, understood?" I've had enough shots fired at me before breakfast, I add silently.

"Yes sir" His dark voice is far from icy, but can in the least be characterized as stoic. So far the experienced man has proven to be a conscentious and precise coworker -thoughtful even, which says a lot for a Vulcan. Wether he actually possesses enough humanity, enough empathy, needed in this line of work remains yet to be seen.

"This catch would make my day so don't let me down. Everyone: get to work."

"Paris," I add as I turn to him "you got an extra shift for being clever."

"Will do." He sighs beaten.

I exit the bridge and step into Val Jeans cramped interior. My short visit to the tiny island of Corsica hadn't had the impact I had been longing for. Hoping to somewhat alleviate the numbness that had taken hold of me ever since my fathers death, we had entered Earths atmosphere under the pretense of being traders. With the ship packed with worthless plasma coils and some Ferengi-like charm on Paris' part, Starfleet-customs had opened it's borders without much ado. "If you really are such shrewd business-men" the security officer had told my cocky pilot with a wink "you might want to visit the new Casino on Corsica. Quite exclusive but worth the shot". Might as well try, I'd figured.

The desicion to come to Earth had been a risky one, but I simply hadn't cared. My endless string of sleepless nights had been exceptionally exhausting and I had been in the hope of finding some peace and quiet in the leisurely climate of the Mediterranean. It had proven to be of more benefit to the crew however. I myself hadn't gotten the sleep I so badly longed for. _Then again, it wouldn't be fair to say the visit hadn't at least been satisfying in some aspects. _My resolution to be calm and centered had once again faltered to the need to uplift the numbness; to _feel _something_._ Some breath-taking golddigger had been sitting at the art deco bar; absentmindedly sipping a martini while casually offering surrounding suitors nothing but a cold shoulder. All were flaunting their succes and quick wit at her like brainless peacocks. I had liked the challenge. As she spoke to one of the more expensive suits I had brusquely interrupted to talk to the not so skilled conversationalist. She had been insulted, being pushed out of the spotlight she'd said "Excuse me, I was talking to him". "Wow", I had poked the suit I was supposedly so interested in "is she always this pushy?" I had laughed with the other men who thought I had just blown my chances and no longer considered me a threat. "I wonder, if you would want us to be truly fascinated by you, not just attracted because you're obviously gorgeous, but genuinely interested, like you'd never want me to forget you, what _three_ things about you would I have to know." The very moment she hunched her shoulders and moved her pupils to the far corners of her eyesockets I knew I'd won her over for _she_ was about to convince _me_ why I should be with her. "I'll buy you a drink, you let me know when you have that top three, and this man will continue his story of where he bought that priceless watch, because really, my man, that is one gorgeous timepiece. Does is show the timezones on all Federation planets?" And so it had happened. It had been a sad trick and our night had left me more dissillusioned than her, I'm sure.

All my desperate tries had resulted in, could be pinpointed on a scale from frustration to blind fury. Not even desperation, or sadness -only unforgiving anger, which is still to be preferred over the careless emptiness that sucks the life out of me. My father would want me to process my thoughts, to centre my passions and meditate on them. Little did he know that feeling nothing is so infinitely more difficult than feeling in extremes. _If only I could mourn and weep and collapse. I would welcome it._ In stead my clarity is fogged with insomnia and nothing but harshness reaches through it. No woman, no risk, no danger, no liquor; nothing offers solace.

Upon entering the sleeping quarters I share with five crewmembers, I sink onto the lousy bunkbed with less suppleness than an elephant ridden with artritis. Gratefull for the absence of my fellow crewmen I rub my own neck in an attempt to alleviate some of its tension. I stretch out in the hope to get a few more hours of sleep. Just as I close my eyes I realise that the ship is flying at maximum velocity and it's loud humn and ceaseless buzzing will undoubtedly keep me awake. With a grunt I roll to my side and punch my pillow in a better shape. Helena's bed would have facilitated my need much better if only it hadn't been for that loud and hairy terror of a man. _Ellen, Helena?_

_*Beep* Seska to Chakotay._

"Yes. What?" It comes out harsher than I had intended and I close my eyes in selfannoyance.

.._Bad mood? _She asks. She often senses things even without visual contact. Any less perceptive woman than my dear friend would have noticed though. Hell, even Tuvok might've figured it out.

_I thought, since you're no longer roaming Italys shores, you might feel like getting a drink. The mess is pretty much deserted now...but if you're not up to it then I'll just have to have my Italian coffee on my own?_

I can tell she expects me to accept the invitation, and although I've expressed the boundaries of our involvement, I must admit that I still usually do.

"Not now, thank you. And considering our pending mission I sincerely hope that your drink will be more coffee and less Italian."

_Yes sir, less.. Italian. Indeed. Seska out. _

I'm too exhausted to look up, but I'm positive her cynicism is dripping down the commspeakers. _That's not the last I'll hear of that._ This kind of complicated nonsense is exactly what I don't need right now.

If only I could sleep. Damn this mess. And damn this riff-raff crew. For years I've been recruiting trustworthy, well-balanced soldiers, but time and time again I find that, when lacking those qualities myself, the example I set to the people around me is far from ideal. There is a closeknit group for whom I would give my life; B'Ellanna, Sveta, a few others -gladly even. But at times like these I think of the chaos in our squadron and the perpetual thrillseekers that have no business on this ship. Our values and our vision are lost on people like Lon Suder and Tom Paris. We're not getting anything done as long as we keep bickering internally and flogging our own for insubordination and plain stupidity.

I sigh but the oxygen seems to only partly fill my lungs, a weight feels too heavy to lift by the mere strength of my torso. I consider doing some meditative excercises but my frustration won't clear the way into the depth I'd be seeking. _I might take a swing at my spirit-guide. _I cringe at the thought. Slowly, I lull into an uncomfortable, sweaty sleep and my mind is consumed by a nightmare -or is it a dream?- that there will be a time where things are different and the anger that originates in my toes and sometimes overflows my eyes in the form of bitter tears is gone.

The last thought my mind registers is a question: will I ever explode, or could my fury eventually dissipate in gentle relief.

Could it ever just...vanish?

**Day 2:**

I've forgotten my dream. _Too bad,_ _it may have been a good one._ Perhaps it wasn't even a dream, perhaps it was that drowsy state between sleeping and being awake. I take a deep breath and in an attempt to thoroughly enjoy the lazy softness of the bed I squirm and bury myself deep under the duvet. It's less feathery than I'd expected it to be. Still, I'm reluctant to wake up, this bed is more comfortable than my bunkbed, back on the Val Jean. _And finally, no snoring._ Wait..._Helena? _I wonder where she is. It doesn't sit right with me and so I force my eyes to open. It's darker than I'd expected. Or rather greyer. The ceiling is covered in neatly set bulkheads. I close my eyes and let my still weary mind process this new information. _Why would I think there was a musket?_ _I need to get back to the Val Jean, we're going to get hold of a large freighter._

That specific grey.

Then it hits me.

That specific _Starfleet _grey.

I freeze and slowly move my left arm in a tapping manner on the empty place next to me. I'm alone. With as little movement as humanly possible I look up to see where the faint starlight originates from -_space. I'm in space, I expected as much. _I scan the room -_grey bulkheads, smooth closetdoors, low fluorescent lighting that would make a wedding look grim, zero personality _-definitely Starfleet.

For a moment I ease back in the standard issue pillow. _What possible explanation could there be? _I could still be sleeping. No, probably not. Am I abducted? That customs-officer must have tricked me. That doesn't seem to make any sense though. This is no cell. Propaganda? No, even less likely.

However I got here, I better act with caution.

I'm in the lions den.

_*Beep* Commandteam please report to the bridge. _

I lie still in the bed. Head pushed hard into the pillow. _It's not possible. What am I missing? Their internal sensors must have detected me by now. _I wonder who will answer.

_Kim to Commander Chakotay, please respond. _

I'm definitely here and that call is definitely for me.

"Go ahead."

Silence.

_Right, no speakers for one-on-one hails, it's commbadges with Starfleet. Where would the damn thing be?_

I turn to a nightstand and the moment the badge comes into focus it slightly resonates on another reguest.

_Commander Chakotay please respond. _

I tap it and say "Go ahead."

"Tuvok has detected a temporal anomaly, sir. He's apparently seen it before...back in the Alpha-quadrant. The captain is already on her way."

"Right." I decide to bluff. "I'll ..take a look then."

"Sorry to wake you sir..."

Silence.

"..um...Ensign Kim out."

A lions den..._with an ensign in command?_

A lions den none the less.


	2. Chapter 2

It's canon up to the very last minute of Endgame.

**Day 2, 05:36h. **

Meticulous to say the least.

It must've taken them years of gathering intel and careful planning.

My chin rests on my thumbs and my entwined fingers push against my upperlip. The warmth of my exhaled breaths reminds me of the reality of my predicament. Never has a dream been this tangible, never an actual situation so impalpable.

In a desperate search for answers I had stumbled out of the bed but all I've managed in the minutes that followed is to scan my surroundings and request the maincomputer for coordinates. _I will to have to do that again. Maybe I misheard the first time. _The all too familiar voice of Starfleets main computers had willingly provided me with information as if I were an old friend. An old friend that had been expected to report back after his brief daliance with boyish rebels. I feel like some teenager, unheard by parents in the need to act on idealistic principles. So here I sit at a starfleet table, on a starfleet seat, wearing Starfleet briefs. Much like that confused yet determined minor wo feels he's been dragged back home by condescending parents. _They can't break me like some juvenile delinquent. I'm a soldier, a warrior. I may be out of focus, angry as I am, but it will take the Fleets finest to bring me down. _

Starfleet has definitely done its research though. My quarters are a credible resemblence of what mine would look like after years of travelling; patterned stitching on the furniture, a few plants in dire need of watering, an artpiece on the wall made of molten copper and knotted rope. It's personal and they were too intelligent to overdo it; there's no dreamcatcher hanging from the ceiling or merry picture with my father. Upon entering the livingarea one object in particular had immediately bothered me; the medicine bundle on the glass salontable. Afraid to find they've made an accurate guess of what meaningfull mementos I would have, I had stubbornly refused to unroll the leathery cloth to see what it holds inside. Its mere presence annoys me now.

The portable computer in front of me displays Voyagers crew manifest.

If ever there was a euphemism... _Voyager; _by far the nicest word for involuntary explorer -_or more accurate yet; abductee_. I myself would have gone for something closer to the truth: _Capturer_, _Orwellian Nightmare_, maybe _Vessel of Propaganda and Sadistic Mind-Control_. That probably wouldn't fit the plaque though.

I register the familiar wake of my frustration. Tapping my bare foot on the low pile carpeting proves to be an insufficient outlet; I can already feel the flames starting to lash out.

Of my 25 Val Jean-crewmen only 15 are accounted for on Voyagers list.

15 Names, along with headshots and essentials. Their highlighted datafiles contrast the black screen.

15 faces. Unarmed. Unknowing. All in the constraints of the Starfleet issue get up.

All have been denied their right to anger, choice and freedom. All would have preferred honest cuffs over the deceptively crisp uniform. They find themselves stripped of their will to fight and are denied an honest trial, a chance to own their crimes and explain themselves, a chance at pride or B'Ellanna's honour -their voices have simply been muted. Starfleet slapped them in the face with pinned on ranks, slick hairdoes and a strict categorisation by the colour on their shoulders. My friends are branded like cattle.

Bendera, Hogan, Jonas, Suder. Four names are provided with a cold addition. _Deceased._ It's an unforgiving stamp. One that can never be undone. My breathing grows sharper as I eye the words in bloody red letters and I'm unable to fathom their implication.

Bendera .. Deceased.

My damp fingers tighten together.

Hogan..Deceased.

Jonas..Deceased.

Suder..Deceased.

I grind my teeth. Before checking on the other names I avert my sight to glare down the authentic looking medicine bundle. _Back off_. I tell it in silence. The inate thing pays me no heed.

B'Elanna Torres.. Lieutenant, Chief Engineer, Main Engineering.

_Damn. _Not_ her. _They got_ B'Ellanna._ She's strong but impulsive. Her loyalty and selfsacrifice would have kept her from walking away from this fight, from her comrades. _Chief_ Engineer, though. She has the know-how, no doubt about it, but the delicate equilibirium that is her flamable mind is easily tipped out of balance. Protocols and regulations would be thrown overboard and subordinates that preferred to abide by them would soon find themselves in their persuit and out of an exit-hatch. _I could reason with her, but a Starfleet Captain? -Never. _B'Ellanna's explosive leadership would cause problems on a daily basis; no official would ever consider her for the job. Her tough exterior would hide it, but the vulnerable woman I know her to be would probably crack under the stress and constrictions that come with the position. _How could she ever be made to salute a Captain of the Fleet? I simply can't imagine. _

On to the next.

Ayala..Lieutenant junior grade, Bridge - Combat Tactics and Military Operations. My valued friend finally has a tactial position on a mighty ship such as this one. In the spread out squadrons of the Maquis no vessel is grand enough to support a hierarchy in which combat tactics are purposefully designed. The Maquis rely on split-second decisions made by excecutive teammembers. Ayala, I know, would genuinely enjoy designing combatpolicy and combattraining, planning projected away-misions' services and provisions. He loathes extensive administrative functions, but would gladly pay that cost, I'm sure.

Seska, Defected. _Defected to an alien race? Undercover Cardassian?_ She must've been a hand full for Starfleet to come up wit such fantastical scenarios. I wonder if she died in whatever fight we must've lost or if she was simply never captured. It's possible; she is strong and would put up one hell of a fight.

I unfold my fingers to scroll down to the next names and my damp indexfinger leaves an oval circle on the control.

_Jackson, Dalby, Chell, Paris, Henley, Gerron, Tuvok, Jarvin_. All assigned to different departments: Bridge, Main Engineering, Deuterium Tankage & Refinement, Maintenance and the Re-supply & Repair assembly. They've been positioned at posts that suit them well. Very well. Especially Paris at the helm and Tuvok at tactical.

Starfleet has _definitely _done its research. It disgusts me more, somehow, for it proves how calculated this new manipulative tactic is. _At least I hope it's new._ I wonder if there are more ships like Voyager and if Sveta is somewhere, dressed up like some Fleet lieutenant, dancing to the likes of a Federation hotshot.

I never loathed Starfleet; enlisting had been my way of exploring life outside the confines of my traditionalist family. This sickening form of propaganda isn't something I would've associated with the Fleet and to realise I had once been part of an organisation capable of this... It's unacceptable and it leaves me gutted. My father has educated me about my ancestors. He had traced our roots all the way back to the Mayans. My mind has always been prone to visualize rather than conceptualize and as a young boy one of my fathers teachings had burned an image on my mental retina that had since never dissipated; the Mayan ceremony of cutting the abdomen of slaves and carving out their hearts in sacrifice. The innocent slaves apparently lived long enough to see it stop beating. I had been too young for that story and my tribe has always identified with later descendants. Still, the sentiment now forces its way into my consciousness. _Gutted and disheartened. _

I can't stand injustice.

My jaws hurt from clenching my teeth. I try to control my iratic exhales and close my eyes in an attempt to calm myself. I know it's futile. Fury tenses my nostrils and pushes my chin up. _To hell with it._

_"Back off!" _I yell at the bundle.

My grey chair topples over as I strand straight. In but a few steps I move towards the coffeetable and grab the invasive thing. It's lifelessness seems to deliberately provoke me. With a roar I swing the bundle across the room. The clattering sound of it hitting something in the far corner doesn't satisfy me in the least. Armed with nothing but dissapointment and dependance I face the stars outside my quarters; they are dots rather than streaks passing by. We're not moving.

I can't loose my temper now; I need my focus. My crew needs me, halved and disoriented as it may be. I have no explanation for it but I have somehow regained my clarity of mind and am no longer under the control of this...mind-controlling ship. My crew may not have that clarity: they may not realise where they are, _who they are. _They need me now more then ever_._

I need a plan.

**Day 2, 05:54h. **

"Commander!" He greets me cheerfully, but the acknowledgement of my supposed rank tells me he's under the impresson that this role is my true identity. _I really am the only one with knowledge of our former lives._ Two ensigns had nodded repectfully on my way to the shuttlebay but whether they had recognised me as their commander had still remained a mystery to me. Glad to finally have found the shuttlebay I find my hope crashed by his ignorance.

The blonde-haired enthusiast seemed sure of himself though. He had come crawling from under the cutting-edge shuttlecraft as soon as he'd heared the heavy baydoors open upon my entry.

"Paris," I answer him with authority. "How have you been?" Open questions are all the tactic I have right now.

My inquiry is disregarded however, as he makes one of his own "We missed you at the staffmeeting." He leans against the spacecraft and folds his arms: no suspicion can be read off his aged face, only concern.

"I didn't feel good." My answer is curt. I want him to do the talking.

"I know" he nods in understanding. "And I think you're not the only one. Everyone's still shaken up." His gaze gets lost somewhere in the middle of the great hall. His willingness to fall silent tells me he thinks we're close; he doesn't perceive it as awkward.

Several shuttles stand disembarked but this is the only one surrounded with clutter. Telling off its state, Paris has been making some integral changes . I can hardly recognise him; he's gained weight and age, his hair is shorter, his voice is softer and.. there's something else.

"..shaken up?" I try. He thinks I know what he's talking about but I risk asking the question anyway. It's unlikely to arouse suspicion; Paris is an easy talker and has a nag for forgiving people their shortcomings, he gladly gives them the benefit of the doubt. I don't know the man long but this obvious trait I had figured out within a day. That and his problem with authority, or perhaps structure, of that I'm not yet sure. Regardless, all those charactertraits have been the reason for me to visit him first. Well, that and the fact that he's alone, free of prying ears and interrupting personell.

"The admiral really got everyone's hopes up, you know?" He looks at me for confirmation which I eagerly provide with a nodd "I mean, she was the captain, in a way," he continues "...why wouldn't we believe her, right?"

"Right," I nodd again. _Come on Paris, you can do better than this._

"I'll be honest with you," I say "I'm really wondering how you're doing." I form my eyebrows to the shape of concern and take the same position as him; arms folded, broad stance, head slightly tilted backward. "In the light of recent events," I paraphrase his words "I wonder how it's all impacted you."

His eyebrows mimic mine and he nods in understanding. "Well, if we're _really _being honest.." He quickly looks around to see if the bay is still ours. "..I don't mind so much that that Borg-sphere collided with us; threw us out of the conduit." He lowers his chin and studies me from below his eyebrows. He expects his words to have an impact on me.

"Well," I say. I look down at the rubble on the floor and softly kick some modern gel-unit I've never seen before. _What has he been doing with that goo?_ "How so?" I ask.

"Well, I don't expect a welcome-homeparty for an ex-convict and a former Maquis." He chuckles hesitantly at my sudden peak of interest. "But actually, I think we've got a good deal going here." He looses some of his care and puts one hand jovially on my shoulder. Further convincing me of his case he says "I was pretty confident before, but who's ever going to beat us now?! Armorplating, transphasic torpedoes, a cure for Tuvok, maps and specifics about the road ahead; the admiral has facilitated us pretty generously wouldn't you say?" He asks rhetorically and doesn't await my answer "Those few seconds in that transwarp-hub were just perfect if you ask me. Six years? It's going to be a piece of cake!" He flamboyantly lifts his shoulders and seems genuinely optimistic. "We were somewhat used to the idea of raising Miral on Voyager," he turns more serious and narrows his body language to my persona again "Voyager is kind of the home Earth never was." He pauses "..and I know I'm not just speaking for me." It's almost a whipser. _They got to him good. _

"You know?" He tries. My silence renders him somewhat insecure. "Hey, you're asking a new dad, how negative can I possibly be?"

For a moment we simply look at each other. The bay seems less empty than it had before, the clutter and goo-packs are almost scattered in a homely fashion and this version of Paris is far from the man I was talking to only yesterday. _Raising Miral_. He's raising someone. This fluke of a man is uniformed, concerned, talks in an intimate and serious manner, makes real contact with me and is responsible for the youth of another human being, a child no less.

He mistakes my in_comprehension_for concern "People talk. You know that." He says with an open handpalm to consolidate his earnestness "I've heard about you and...or actually B'Ellanna did." He speaks slowly, like I've never heard him do before. I feel like we're about to make an illegal deal but I forgot the contraband. "You surprised us there" He says. "But listen, what I'm trying to say is: _nothing _will happen to 7..." He's assuring me in a hushed tone and nods his chin all-knowingly as if I'm some sort of accomplice. All I can do is look at him intently and wait for him to continue. _7..People? What? Why_ _doesn't he finish his sentence?_ _What's he talking about? Does he expect me to guess?_

_*Beep** Janeway to Chakotay.* _

It catches me off guard.

"Chakotay here"

_*Please come see me in astrometrics.*_

Reluctant to cut my conversation with Paris short I decide to use my time more efficiently than looking at starcharts; my top priority is assessing the state of my crew.

_"_I'm due at the bridge" I tell the woman as I see Paris' forehead wrinkle in surprise. I don't understand his disbelief; I am actually due at the bridge and bridge-related business is usually top-priority. Reassured of myself I break the link "Chakotay out"

"You just said 'former Maquis', how do you look back at that time?" I ask, eager to change the subject.

He ignores my question but for a short puzzled look.

"You haven't seen the captain yet?" He asks increduously. _Janeway. Of course, I had heard that name before. Captain_ Janeway.

"If you don't mind me saying, you seem a little...disoriented." He pats me on the back and continues "These recalibrations will keep me busy for a while, why don't you drop by later for some man-talk? At crazy times like these we all start wondering things," he squints his eyes in a pathetic attempt to appear philosophical "..it's only normal to reminisce when you're thinking about your future." The absence of my reaction seems to motivate him. "You could even come with us on the away-mision, we'll play some poker, have some fried chicken.." With one hand still on my shoulder he moves the other horizontally as to accentuate an imaginative landscape. "Just us men: free to roam, loose from the shackles of our women and able to go wherever we want." _There's the Paris I know. _He nods in selfapproval. "That is, if we conduct the scans on that temporal-anomaly, gather the specimen we need and get back within the scheduled time; I have an early shift tomorrow" he adds with a broad smile before he turns serious again. "Perhaps for now you should just-"

_*beep* Janeway to Chakotay, please enlighten me on what's so important on the bridge.* _

_Great. I pissed her off_. More hesitant than before I tap my badge and answer "Tuvok asked me to look over some readings."

_*Right.* _she says firmly *_Report to astrometrics. Janeway out._*


	3. Chapter 3

**Day 2, 06:07h.**

I head for the turbolift as I mentally prepare myself for my meeting with captain Janeway. I won´t confront her. A predator doesn't bare its teeth and extend its claws, it would scare off the prey. No, I will win her trust and let her come to me.

The liftdoors open to reveal a blonde woman bluntly looking at me. "Chakotay" she acknowledges me with a young sounding voice. I take her in and find her flawless face can only be described as perfect. My eyes automatically wander down her body which she has tightly wrapped in a divingsuite-like costume. _Perfection. _Her left eye is adorned with a Borg-like implant. She's radiant, beautiful and somehow forward in her appearance.

"Lieutenant-commander Tuvok has requested you look at the preliminary readings from the temporal anomaly. It is vital that you do so" she states firmly. Her childlike voice doesn't match her complex words.

"I'll make sure I do." I say. I wonder who she is; obviously none-Starfleet but definitely part of the crew telling off her badge and mention of Tuvok.

She has no intention of stepping out the lift when I enter "I am to assist ensign Paris" she explains. _What is she waiting for then?_

"Your absence.." Despite her straightened back and clearly articulated words she won't fool anyone with her feigned confidence. "..was..unexpected." The implant moves with her eyebrow as she expresses both worry and confusion. "Are you unwell?" She asks.

"You wish to be informed of my absence?" I choose my words carefully for I'm unsure of my affiliation with her. _I would've talked her into my bed if I was the man I am now -then again, what man wouldn't?_

"No." For a moment she reconsiders her answer. "Well...is it not customary to keep ones..._companion _informed?" She says.

"Companion?" The word had had a clear meaning. _Guess I haven't been so different after all._

I move to her and out of the doors sensorrange. Before a mechanical hiss cuts us off from the rest of the ship I have already put my lower arm high on the wall behind her, closing her in between my body and the elevators interior plating. I move my nose from the base of her neck, not quite touching her, and up to her left earlobe.

Her close-fitting suit doesn't reveal her heavy breathing.

"You smell nice" I say.

With my right hand I take her firmly wrapped arm and caress the soft inside of her elbow with my thumb. The fabric is stretched so tightly it denies me a true appreciation of her softness.

"This is not.." she starts as she studies me with her big blue eyes "..appropriate."

"Do you want me to stop?"

She swallows hard and her luscious lip quivers faintly.

"No." She says in spite of herself. I can't believe my luck. _She couldn't have had better timing._

I smile. "You're not a thief are you?" It takes her off guard.

I let go of her elbow and raise my hand to my collar. "It takes me everything not to kiss you" I tell her playfully as I remove my rankbar and press it into her handpalm. Once my mouth lingers at her ear again I whisper "Keep this as a keepsake, you can return it to me tonight; in my quartres." Her ideal face oozes purity and longing. She offers a single nodd in agreement.

Tonight I will once again seek to alleviate my frustration and cheat myself out of my resolution to be calm. The loss of self control doesn't effect me one bit, not anymore_. _I had won her over at a previous time though. She might not quench my thirst like an actual conquest again, her rare beauty may lengthen the joy of my usually short relief. Regardless, I'm content with my dubious achievement.

As quickly as I had approached her, so swiftly did I now retake my stance in the middle of the lift. With a mindless gesture I point at the controlpanel and ask "Is this you or are you going down?".

**Day 2, 06:23h.**

She reveals only her back but the red fabric of the uniform is all I need to deduce her rank.

The astrometrics lab is situated at the far end of a corridor all the way down on deck 10. It feels somewhat secluded from the rest of this vibrant ship; the lab is far from the hum of Voyagers main departments on the upper decks, but well above the ships lower intestines which, I'm sure, keep a beehive of maintenance-personell, buzzing away to keep all systems proverbially oiled and running smoothly. The deceivingly simple doors had given no clue of the marvel they hold. Astrometrics; a hub of converged datastreams that find their origin in the hulls scanning equipment, countless cartography instruments and analytical nodes from 15 decks, all easily accessible from this very room. It's unlike anything I've ever seen -_beautiful and so intimidating._

I have been on my fair share of Federation vessels but this one has me stunned, never have I seen a ship so small and yet so advanced. I hadn't even fathomed Paris' summing-up of Voyagers latest add-ons while technical engineering had usually not been a problem for me. It confuses me. _Why use the gem of the Fleet for propaganda purposes? It seems so excessive. _I decide to do more research, perhaps go through my personal logs.

First though, I must face the spider at the centre of this web of lies.

"Captain Janeway" I announce my presence as I linger in the doorway. The lab is somewhat darkened to facilitate the clarity of enlightened charts. Harsh corridor-lights project a white trapezium on the labs carpet. My blurry shadow looks long and gangly; not how I want to be perceived by this unknown captain and newfound enemy.

She doesn't answer and seems unaware of my presence. Her position in front of a wraparound holographic wall towers mine. I don't want our introduction to be on such unequal grounds; _she;_ standing proudly on a stage, surrounded with carefully researched intelligence that will undoubtedly back her in whatever claim she'll make, _me_; armed with nothing but a meak shadow and still totally unfamiliar with my surroundings: a puppet to her strings.

She leans on one hip and has her head somewhat tilted to the right. Slowly, she shifts her weight to her other leg so her body keeps up with her mind as it analyses the stellar region displayed in front of her. The three dimensional schematic gradually rotates and complex formulas float along with its lines and graphs. Putting one foot past the other she moves, ever so slowly, in the opposite direction and carefully takes in the equations. The sheer abundance of bright numbers and figures engulfs her dark shape. Her sleek, calculated moves, her darkened form, her understanding of the complexity in front of her, towering her in its displayed height; it all leaves her an unreachable opponent and I am reluctant to enter her lair.

I decide to face the danger head on and step inside. The door willingly hands me over to the strange environment and slides shut with treacherous ease.

"Captain Janeway" I repeat.

"You're here," she states, still obviously distracted. Unwilling to tear her eyes off the enlightened wall she doesn't face me.

"It's quite the mystery," she almost sounds elated

"..it showed up on sensors and dissapeared as sudden as it came." She slowly turns her head.

"Tuvok recognised it instantly. I want to know what you think." She tells me over her shoulder.

"Chackotay," Something about me is unexpected and her posture changes at the sight of me. _We're on a first name basis? _She's reminded of something and shifts her full attention to me. In an effort to properly take me in she turns around so I finally see her whole front. I notice a padd and a metal mug in her hands.

"I didn't see you this morning." It's stated as a fact but her facial expression is one of inquiry.

I move forward and confidently look up at her. In my new position, at her feet and in the middle of a triangle of workstations, I can't help but feel I stand trial for my earlier absence. My hands are placed loosely on my hips and I'm ready to face her condamnation._ Come on then, give me all you've got._

"Is something wrong?" She asks plainly.

"You tell me" I say boyishly. Transparancy has always enjoyed my preference but now I can just punch myself for my lack of wit. I quickly gather myself.

"What about that data was it that peaked Tuvoks interest exactly?" I ask.

She remains unchanged.

"Please answer me." She says calmly. Her voice is husky.

"I haven't been feeling very well. I'm fine now." It feels uncomfortable to defy her.

It's hard to make out her face due to the light behind her, but I can tell she doesn't believe me. We both pause and in an attempt to level with me, she squats down with one elbow on her knee. I follow her gaze to my empty collar but she doesn't comment on my Commanderspin, or lack thereof. The padd and mug hang loosely in her hands. I wish I hadn't walked up this close to the podium because we are now less than a meter apart while I prefer to keep her at bay. Her concerned face still towers me however and a panel forms a safe threshold.

I can see her more clearly now. She has a peculiar haircolor -_warm, _and a serene face -_not unpretty but hardly my type, far too...real?_ My hard demeanor has no effect on her, she openly shows me her somewhat saddened face and she actively seeks eyecontact.

"Lately, you seem..." she digs her vocabulary for a fitting adjective

"...lost".

I didn't see this coming. I'm laden with strength and determination, ready to deal with a cunning superior and even violence or danger _-not concern and understanding. _It throws me off balance.

Her whisper is almost inaudible as she continues "...I hope we can talk."

_She seems genuine... No. _She's the director of this conversation. Regardless of her intended vulnerability, _she_ holds the reigns._ Is she this shrewd? Am I being played? _I need to turn this around.

"I agree" I say as I'm changing tactics. "I do want to talk."

Her lips shape into a warm smile; she's relieved. Her face is soft and dissarming. I had pictured someone very different at the sound of her voice over the commline. She's an unexpected pleasure, _or a manipulative adversary who can't be overestimated_.

I swallow and continue "..about integrity."

That surprises her. _Good._ Her smile makes way for confusion. "..integrity?" She asks.

"You're a Starfleet captain, I'm sure you could write gigabytes worth of data on the subject." She's unaware of my struggle for power and patiently awaits me to reveal my intention.

"..your point?" She asks with squinted eyes.

"Well," I say, my minds turmoil is carefully supressed by my need to take control. _Nothing good can come of this._

"...you think you still have it?" I boldly meet her downlooking eyes.

"...some integrity?" I add.

_I'm digging my own grave but for now, I don't care. _I want to yell at her, grab her by the hair and make her undo the injustice she's inflicted on my crew. _The manipulative minx almost had me fooled with her well-practised smile. _

"What's this about?" She's still eerily calm and withholds her reaction for now. I sense a depth though, something that might even resemble wisdom.

"I'm genuinely interested to know." I say dryly.

"..are you?" Her eyebrows flicker upward. "We _could _have a discussion about norms and values, but I doubt that's what you're after." We look at each other as though we're in a Mexican stand-off, one in which she doesn't want to participate.

She sighs in deliberation.

"Ever since my counterpart, the admiral, visited us you've been distant. You have a..." handgestures fill in for elusive words "..a wall of anger pulled up around you."

"Why so evasive, captain? Tough question to answer?"

I'm picking a fight and she knows it. _Why am I so out of control?_

She lays down her padd and scratches her chin, deep in thought. Her demeanor changes.

"Allright then," the challenge seduces her into humoring me

"Not some; you either have integrity or you don't.. -_I do."_ She overarticulated her last words. "Retrospection is an unfriendly thing but I can account for my every descision." She leaves her mug on the elevated floor as she stands.

"Now you answer methis_.."_ As she steps down and into my lighting her face changes. Her features are more delicate now. I realise she's less tall than I had estimated her to be, her strong presence and business-like way of handling herself had fooled me into overestimating her height.

"You haven't been this angry since you were with the Maquis, " the corners of her mouth arch downward

"...and frankly, I don't care for your presumptuousness."

"..excuse me?!" If she were a man of my size I'd break her nose for that.

"What's changed?" She gently places her hand on my upperarm and doesn't hesitate to invade my personal space. I don't think a woman has ever dared to approach me this bluntly while I was in this state.

"What do_ you _know about the Maquis?" My question is an obvious cover for a harsh accusation; she knows nothing. I pull away from her assuring hand, unwilling to let it soften my resolve.

"What do I know about the Maquis?" She either doesn't understand or ignores that it was rhetorical question. "I know you couldn't find...the _true meaning peace."_ She says delicately.

I turn away and cover my face with both hands. _I can't believe this woman. _

I fight the urge to pace and instead walk around a workstation, placing it safely between us.

"Why?" She asks as she steps in my direction. "What do _you _think about the Maquis?"

I sigh. What do I think about the Maquis? What kind of a question is that?

"I don't know."It's the my dissorientation I wouldn't be able to answer her simple question. Also, the state of the rebellion bothers me so perhaps my doubt is caused by my waivering conviction -_for the organisation, not the cause, never the cause._ I wonder why I needed a Fleet captain to come to that revelation.

My confusion translates into adrenaline and I place intertwined fingers on the back of my head. I realise I'm acting like some alpha-male gorilla, maximising my height and bodysize to fight for my position. It's a pathetic attempt for her calm reasoning is bound to claim its victory. The uniform wears me down, it pulls at my shoulders. _This is rediculous. _I stretch my neck and feel like taking a swing at something. _I couldn't find my peace, she said. Where does she get this stuff? _She got into my head. _She's the perfect actress for this role. _

I'm ready to take some sort of decisive action. I turn but freeze at the sight of this unlikely captain. _She has no need for victory. I'm the only one in the boxing ring. _Her hands rest on the panel between us and her eyebrows have once again taken the shape of unrelenting compassion.

"It's only _me_.." she whispers.

The doors behind me permit the harsh light to reenter the lab. Someone enters and the captain seems to shift from concern to whatever business is at hand. She isn't startled by the interruption.

"Commander," an optimistic voice starts behind me "have you analyzed the data yet?" I turn and see an asian youngman hand the captain a datapadd. He looks at me with naive foolishness.

"Data?" I can't shift gears as easily as Janeway who casually scans the padd she's been given.

"..the temporal anomaly." His clue doesn't elicit my reaction allthough he clearly thought it would. The dreamlike room had changed drastically upon his entrance.

"Have you heard about Samantha? _The Lucy Dinklage-show_ wants an interview with her, some ancient acquaintance want to reconnect!"

The room is too dimlit and too charged to cope with the ensigns cheerfulness.

"It might be some secret admirer!" The man almost stands on his toes as he shares the anecdote.

"Secret, how so?" I ask him. For a moment he holds his breath, "Well" he says, "..maybe not so secret. Still, you know. It's a global show!"

We nodd in understanding and wait patiently as Janeway finishes with the padd.

"Anyway, she said she's probably not going to do it so..." He looks down in defeat as he realises his oversold story fails to impress either of us.

Janeway finally holds the datapadd to her chest "Thank you, Harry, you're dismissed" she tells him coolly.

His inconvenience starts to dawn on him but he seems reluctant to leave the situation in this precarious state. He physically turns away while his eyes still jump from the captain to me and back to the captain.

"-Sir, -Ma'am" he offers dutifully and backs away, eager to forget his faux pas.

Janeway nodds absent mindedly but has her focus already on me.

"Take the day." The intimacy has dissipated from her voice and her overall demeanor had changed. She now seems reluctant to discuss informalities.

It feels like a loss. _I turned her down. _

_"_Do what you need to do and don't report back for duty until you've gathered yourself." She says.

She heads back to the holowall and heavilly takes the steps that lead up to it. I'm sure it's the only sensible thing to do, the only possible advice. But it's easy for her to say, _where would I begin?_

It's unfair; she does as she likes, pierces through me with inexplicable perceptiveness and now gets to wash her hands in innocence. _I won't tolerate it. _

My determination resurfaces and I jog up the steps. She turns in surprise but I'm already at her side and holding her upper arm. We almost bump into each other and I clench my hand into a firm grip.

"Don't you turn your back on me." I spit at her. This is wrong and unplanned. _Janeway was supposed to come to me. _

She looks at my hand on her arm, utterly unimpressed as though it were a miscalculation; a mere nuiscance to be dealt with.

"You don't want to do that" her words are clear. "Release your hand," she leaves no other option open for deliberation but I defy her none the less. "..._now_." she adds.

"How do you know me so well?" I sound hushed but urgent.

I'm annoyed as she answers me with a bewildered question of her own "Have we really drifted so far apart?"

It is the last thing I expect from her but I'm certain none the less; her lower eyelids fill up with tears. They're too discrete to be seen from a distance and she doesn't blink to keep them where they are. I see them though.

I tighten my grip, not to corner her, but to give her strenght. My physical force might shake her out of her sadness.

_Be angry now, I need you pissed off like you were over the ._

"..drifted apart?" I need answers. I need them now.

"Just how close have we been, _captain Janeway_?" I can feel the energy in the room had charged. I can almost taste it.

She leans into me and I see that she is now indeed pissed off.

"_Close enough_ I'd say" her reply tells me nothing.

She sharply tugs at her arm -it's the first move that I had seen coming. All else about her I have yet to understand.

"Go ahead. Solve this in your clean-cut Starfleet way, isn't that what you do? Render us paralyzed with overkill? Please," I say "call for security."

_She accepted my challenge before. I don't know what drives me to test her again but I have no interest to linger in vagueness any longer. _

Again, she doesn't respond in a way I could have foreseen. She raises her hand and touches my cheekbone with the tips of her fingers.

She speaks softly and slowly shakes her head "I don't think weapons are what we need."

_No. No. No. _

The ever rotating graph on the holoscreen casts an intricate display of yellow and orange figures across her face. Only minutes ago I had never seen her. My existence was free of hers. Now, I feel my next move will be the most important one in my life.

"..._I miss you."_ more air than sound escaped her mouth but her whispered words were clear.

I can't compute the information though. I need to control her, hold her back somehow. I can't step away either for she's the key to.._something_. Her fingers must stop exploring my cheekbone, of that I'm sure; it captivates my attention.

In an attempt to control her and get through to her at the same time, I loosen my grip and slide my hand diagonally across her arm, onto her shoulderblade, upwards to her neck and past the ridges of her jacket and turtleneck. My fingers find her auburn hair and in some animal instinct I bury my fingers in the red streaks on the back of her head, thumb first, just above her neck. It feels thick and warm and I wonder if she can feel the heartbeat from my wrist. Earlier, I had considered her to be the lionness but now it's me thats almost grabbing her by the neck; much like felines would their cubs. I gently pull her head backward so her face is laid bare and can be submitted to my scrutiny. There's an eerie tenderness to our proximity and she moves her head willingly at my full hand of smooth hair. She looks up as I tower over her and it occurs to me that her body fits mine. I recognise some basic need to hold her still and guard myself from her unpredictability. Being close to her sooths me, and so does the knowledge that I can keep her from coming any closer.

With my free hand I gently remove her fingers from my cheek. Her hand feels bony and slender. I let go of it but her fingers circle mine.

A clear thought creeps into my mind: she's dangerous.

Wriggling one hand free from hers I let go of the rich hair I hold in the other. The loss leaves both my palms cold. I take a few large steps back to the centre of the elevated stage.

We look at each other and say nothing. I can find only one constant in her behavior; she's calm and collected, even now. I'm a wild primate in comparison to her.

I leave the room without announcing my exit; there's no need for I feel her gaze following me with the precision of an eagle eyeing its next meal.

Once I'm back in the corridor and safely back in the fully lit world I feel safe enough to hold my pace. I turn around in disbelief but quickly regroup as I hear voices approaching.

Knowing she's the captain I will be dealing with fills me with confusion. _I don't know how to go about this. _

_B'Ellanna._ She's the one I need to see.


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 2, 08:58h.**

The lab had only been reminded of its attachment to this magnificent spacecraft by the throbbing of circuitry-veins originating from Voyagers heart; Main Engineering. Their rithmic buzz gives the ship an almost organic feel. I wonder if in time it would make up for the streamlined interior and its charmless grey-tones. The scaled blueprint on a wall outside the shuttlebay had shown Engineering to be on this same deck, albeit far from astrometrics.

Voyagers corridors become livelier as I approach the ships core. Dilligent crewmembers fill the curved aisles and their chattering resonates off the bulkheads. "-Commander", "-Sir" A short woman with sandy brown hair and a lean Bajoran greet me with curtious nodds as they pass me by. She had been biting her lip in an awkard smirk and he had been looking down in an obvious attempt to keep his composure; some piquant joke had apparently been hysterical. _There is no need to be this stiff on the Val Jean._

I enter Main Engineerings double doors as the typical sounds of industry welcome me into the two-storied nerve centre. The muffled sound of boots on wore down paths in the carpet, hushed conversations and cheerful panelcontrol-beeps meld together with the cores steady hum. Much like an antcolony, the countless workers, all performing carefully coordinated duties, would fool any layman into thinking the place was run by chaos. I know better; B'Ellanna pulls the strings here.

While scanning the area I return civil greetings as crewmembers recognize me. I finally find her stting at a workstation near the warpcore, juggling her attention between several screens and pushing in commands with the ease of a gifted pianoplayer.

I walk up to her and lean in close.

"B'Ellanna."

"Hey you," she says matter-of-factly without averting her eyes from her work "I hear you're taking a sabbatical..."

I chuckle. _Paris had made an accurate observation _ "Word really does travel fast here." I say. Her remark had been a tease but my confirmation makes her pivot her seat. I hold up both hands before she can continue "I'm fine, I just had some work to catch up on." I shake off the memory of Janeway in astrometrics. "I've dealt with enough concern for one day."

Her big eyes remain on mine but she reluctantly lets me have my privacy. Her hair is longer and the ease with which she wears the black and gold uniform shocks me. She casually wears an overcoat, the breastpocket of which is filled with delicate instruments. "I know you're going through some things" she says "..but you let me know if you wanna talk, okay?" I know not to deny her her offer of friendship, she'd make me pay if I would. "Of course" I say. She seems satisfied at that.

"What are you working on?" She's not talkative but work-related conversation might get her started. "Captain Janeway said our yearplan includes one of last years bulletpoints." She rolls her eyes and continues at my nonverbal urge to go on "Well, she asked what I plan to do different this time. Our previous way of handling the problem didn't seem to work" she sighs and sits back.

"So?" I ask.

"Stabilizing the temperature of the impulse capacitance cells might control the power released into the driver coils. Last year, it failed; I'll have to come up with something else..." Her mind races as she gazes at nothing "...we could enhance the stabilizers with intervalled plasma injections..."

She lifts herself up as a Vulcan interrupts her thoughtprocess and hands her a padd. "Preliminary readings from the temporal anomaly" he explains dryly before he turns away.

"The captains latest science project couldn't have come at a worse time." she muses. _Good, she's disgruntled with Janeways authority. It might be the foundation of a new alliance with me._

"The captain sets high standards." I summarize.

"Hmm-mmm" B'Ellanna absent mindedly scrolls down the data-padd.

"Perhaps we should give her a talking to..." I suggest. _If she acts shocked I can wave it away with a playful wink. _

She faces me with raised eyebrows "Hmmm?" I'm not sure if she's heard me correctly. "What? Talk about what?"

"This workload of yours" with my handpalm on my chest I give her all the empathy I can muster "I will stand by you with any problems you might have with her or with how tightly this ship is run." With a dropped jaw and wrinkled foreheadridges she seems to have completely lost my meaning.

"I don't have a problem." Talking too fast is usually a sign of a total lack of self-confidence. I recognise the insecurity in her voice. "Why, do _you_ have a problem?" Emotionally, she doesn't like to disagree with me but she's unable to meet my terms, unable to be disloyal to her captain. _Janeway has taken my place as her anchor. _

"No," I say "no problem here." I force my lips into an awkward grin and look down. _How can the B'Ellanna I know be satisfied with this unlikely job and position?_

"She's right, we weren't getting anywhere with the impulse cells," I nodd hastily but she adds "..we _do_ need to act on that lack of succes; make new plans." She still talks too quickly "I actually agree with her, honestly..."

"Right," I cut her short "Good. Just checking."

"And this," she holds up the padd "..is just regular business." She thinks I mistook her nuisance for genuine complaint and is adamant in her rationalizations.

"I understand" I say.

"I've just had a long night, that's all." A short pause. "Miral's going through some phase. The Doctor assured me it's only temporary but I swear.." she shakes her head and leans her elbows on the station in front of her "..I could lie down right now, right here and sleep through my shift."

_Miral?_

"You and Tom.." The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks. "..you have a daughter."

It may be the lack of sleep but there's an air about her that I've never seen on her before, one of lazy content.

"I know, right?" She smiles broadly. "When I see Tom heating up babybottles and folding tiny socks that don't need folding..." Raising her shoulders and showing me her teeth in an honest smile, she's almost giddy as she adds "Something about it still seems unreal."

"Right.." Tom and B'Ellanna heating up babybottles and folding socks. My brain can't process the information into a mental image and the visualisation remains a caricature of two tough warriors oddly running a day-care.

"...still seems unreal." I repeat her words. Unreal indeed.

"Captain Chakotay" Tuvoks low voice startles me and his use of my rank raises my neckhair. In my reverie I hadn't noticed that all of Engineerings personell had fallen still and is now looking in my direction.

I scan the room, take careful note of their blank faces and turn around in one controlled motion. Tuvok stands in front of me with an armed security detail. Aside from the uniform and the phaser in his hand he looks exactly the same as he did on the Val Jean; not a single grey hair to be seen.

"Captain Chakotay, do you know where you are?"

I look around in confusion but find no support among the bystanders. Only B'Ellanna stands from her stool "What's this about?" she asks.

"Chakotay, do you know the current stardate?"

An excruciating silence.

"Tell him." B'Ellanna says.

Defeated and ashamed of my ruse, I turn to B'Ellanna and tell her "I'm sorry."

"What do you mean?" she remains unalarmed and certain of my innocence.

"This is the year 2378" Tuvok says as he steps closer "You are on the Federation starship Voyager. We mean you no harm. You will come with us for questioning. We can either restrain you and escort you to the brig or you can walk with us voluntarily so we can question you in my office."

The bifold doors slide open and the energy in the grand room shifts as Janeway enters. She walks up to Tuvok and places her hand on his phaser.

"It's allright Chakotay; it makes sense now." She approaches me and places her hand on my upperarm, much like she had before.

"I will explain everything." She says.

"Will you listen?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you for your comments! :)_

**Day 2, 14****:12h.**

Veins on both sides of his forehead seem about to explode and a thick blackness trickles down his expanded nostrils. My elbow thrusts up his chin and the light shows a glazy, greenish tone in the blotch of blood on the cornor of his mouth. My face is so close to it I can smell its rusty, metallic scent. He forces his thumb in the cavity below my ear and I cry out as he pushes inward. I release my arm from under his jaw to ward him off.

With a clenched fist I pull the front of his jacket up to his earlobe. _"Say that again and I swear I'll get primitive on you._" I spit the words at him and tiny drops of saliva land on his face. He would tower over me if he hadn't stumbled backward onto the panel in the wall. Any man would think twice before taking on this athletic man, whom I know is trained in several disciplines of martial arts. Not me; my field medic has told me time and time again that I suffer from prolonged cortisol secretion. 'Nothing a field-medic can fix' he'd said with the look of a mechanic assessing a total-loss shuttlewreck _'elimination of stressfactors_, that would be a proper doctors order, all _I_ can offer is an occasional hypospray'. Stressfactors, there had simply been too many and not one of them up for elimination: uncontrollable loss and suffering of loved ones, the insane flow of recruits through Maquis cells, the exponential growth of the rebellion, a devastating war with both the Cardassian fleet and the Federation Fleet that I had deemed to be on our side, youngsters that perish so soon after they're assigned I hadn't even had the chance to memorize their names. _Stressfactors indeed._ It had all caused a bitterness in me and my 'fight-or-flight' reaction is prolonged. As are my good nightsleep and emotional balance; prolonged _-I hope_.

"She used your sexual attraction to manipulate you, did she not?" He says plainly. "You should not find it unlikely that she uses the Kazons thirst of power against him in a similar way." His steady voice gives no sign of any stress or discomfort. Tuvoks low-key tranquillity that I had respected before now infuriates me like a red flag would a bull. _The secretive rat tries to avert my anger from him to Seska, as if his casual confession of being a Starfleet spy would just blow over._

"Get a grip! Both of you!" I hadn't been aware of her entering the room and I hardly register Janeways yell. My undevided attention is directed at the Vulcan face in front of me but a faint awareness still registers my surroundings _-experienced soldiers don't loose their peripheral vision as adrenaline takes over the senses. _

I know her next statement will have more effect us; she snaps her fingers at the hesitant security detail and says "..you have bets going on this? _What are you waiting for?"_ She lingers at a distance for she is too smart to get involved in what even I know to be a pointless cockfight. She's above this.

One ensign lingers and is foolish enough to stammer an explanation for their lack of action "The commander ordered..." Her facial expression is enough to cut him off. "Yes, ma'am" he quickly concludes with newfound determination.

Before I know it four hands drag me off the traitorous Vulcan and fixate me on the table, my left arm is lodged under the weight of my body. I'm not quick enough to also hold my right arm close to my torso where it has more strength and in a split second I feel it's stretched out violently. They rotate my wristjoint into a painful lock as they handle me with keen professionalism "Stretch out your left arm, commander, or we will start to apply pressure to your wrist" the security officer tells me. My entire body is still so tensed up that my limbs make jerky movements, almost as if neural shocks cause me to spasm. Besides my feet I can move nothing and I willingly surrender my left arm.

Tuvok is held back against the panel. His chiseled cheeckbone will swell to at least twice its size over the next hour. My fist has achieved what time couldn't; after all these years his immaculate face has finally changed, albeit temporarily.

"Commander-," He resumes his reasoning and the fool is unaware of its escalating effect.

"_Are you serious?"_ I say from under two of Voyagers heavy-weights. "_Are you serious,_ Tuvok?"

"It is imperative-" he starts but Janeway interrupts him abruptly "Tuvok, you're dismissed."

From my awkward angle with my head on the table I can see him raise an eyebrow at her. "Your presence is of no beneficial value right now Tuvok." She insists. The stubborn Vulcan inhales to give voice to his objection but the captain won't have it, regardless of how logically sound it may be. "_Leave_." She almost yells at him.

Janeway retakes her seat at the head of the table and rests the bridge of her nose on her thumb and indexfinger. I suddenly feel guilty for causing her stress.

"Are you done?" The annoyance drips from her voice and she doesn't look up.

"I'm done" I say and she gestures the officers to back off. They take their stance by the door and won't intervene if I just manage to keep my cool -_it won't be a problem now that she's taken control. _

I whipe my nose and find my face is covered with sweat, blood and .._tears? snot?_ As I look at the moisture on my hand I realise my knuckles will swell and I may even have broken a bone. I don't feel it. _Yet._ The fight had lasted less than 20 seconds; more than enough time to both deliver a few blows. I had managed to keep him from performing one of his nasty pinches but the effort had cost me the necessary bruises and a possible fracture.

Janeway sighs and asks in a carefully controlled voice "Do you need some time before we continue?"

"I'm fine." I mumble as I try to spread the fingers of my battered hands in order to asses the damage.

"Do you need medical attention?" She asks.

_"_Like I said, I'm fine-" She raises her voice as she interrupts me "_Like I said,_ _do you need medical attention?_"

_"No. Ma'am. I do not._" the intensity of my voice matches hers and she is quick to respond.

_"Good!"_ she leans back and her chair rebounds to support her weight. "_Sit!"_

I do as I'm told and she pauses. We both gather ourselves so we can continue in a normal, civilised tone.

"You assault one of my crewmembers again, you spend the next two weeks in the brig. .._Is..That..Clear_?" Her eyes are locked on the centre of the table and I can almost hear her grind her teeth. She rubs her frail hands together so forcefully I'm sure she could crack a walnut; two at a time.

"What would you have me do about this?" She asks, eyes still steady on the centre of the table.

"It won't happen again. He and I had unfinished business." I try, knowing it won't suffice.

"Oh, I'm sure." She nods and finally confronts me with her eyes.

"I won't officially reprimand you because you're not...'you', I can't impose a restorative or educational measure because you won't remember it." She expresses her frustration in a sharp exhale and continues "...to lock you in your quarters seems pointless, I don't want to deny you the unique chance of getting to know the people on this ship." She leans in close to enforce her message "..but don't get me wrong, Chakotay." The softer her voice is, the more weight her words carry "..you've just enrolled yourself in a zero-tolerance program; _one_ finger so much as points at one of my crew, you'll spend your days in the brig."

I sigh and hope I won't run into the treacherous spy any time soon. "Yes ma'am." My jaw tenses at the words and I fight the urge to circle the table and yell after the Vulcan. The bastard had been my eyes and ears on board the Val Jean, an essential link in the safekeeping of my crew. No matter _how_ green his Vulcan blood is, the man must've laughed himself to sleep every night. I want to sink through the ground when I think about my shame and his efforts to hide Starfleet warpsignatures, keeping us blind to our enemy. He may as well have blindfolded us.

"You'll meet others you're going to have a problem with." She says. "I trust you can handle the next situation with more dignity."

"I'll keep my cool." I say as I make a mental vow. My words sound casual though, I'm too stubborn to share my conviction with a woman I hardly know. I couldn't keep my previous resolutions but I feel I can keep this promise I make her. This is her ship, her territory. No one could ever doubt that. _More dignity, she says. She hit a soft spot there. _

"Good," Janeway continues "because if there's an ounce of doubt, you tell me now. I don't care if you spent your time on this ship in your quarters but you'll find I'm a lot less understanding next time."

She lets me off the hook. I didn't see that coming. Starfleet brass usually stick to their precious rulebooks no matter how dire the situation or troubled the suspect. Her lenience could be perceived as weakness but I prefer to see it as a conversation-opener. She hears me, sees me. She's someone I can do business with.

The captain straightens her back and I can tell she's going down a mental checklist, making sure nothing is forgotten. With a raised hand she says "I don't know where your rankbar is but you won't be needing it any time soon; I granted you a level three security clearance with the exception of weapons-acces. You're now free of rank." _She likes talking with her hands. _

"That's fair." I say and I realise that what the captain says goes. Period.

"Do you understand what's happening to you?" she asks.

I swallow my initial response, _that I'm no idiot_, but decide to use my head this time. "Yes, I understand."

Voyager had recently travelled through a transwarp hub. A body of that density causes complex distortions in the space-time continuum and Seven hadn't even begun to grasp the temporal anomalies in the area. A strange being, or entity of some sort, moves within the hubs conduits and I had encountered it at one of the temporary exits of the hub, back in the alpha quadrant. It had rendered me unconscious for two weeks.

The entity responsible for transferring my memory engrams had been with me since we entered the Borg hub, but hadn't reared it's ugly head until today. This morning, when Tuvok had been scanning for anomalies, much like he had in the Alpha quadrant, all those years ago, _or yesterday if you ask me,_ he had recognised the readings.

It had been Janeway who figured out its signature was in part identical to my neurogenic pathways. Apparently I had raised her suspicion with my behavior in Astrometrics. She and Seven had been able to piece the puzzle together: the consciousness and memories of my younger self had been transported to the old me. My body is in a coma, while I occupy a body with a worn back, grey hair and wrinkles around the eyes. _I age like my father. _

"Do we need to return to the hub for the entity to transfer my consciousness back to the past?"

"No." Janeway explains "The entity seems to initiate the distortion in time but still needs the transwarp conduits to travel between spatial coordinates. We will try to calculate when and where the next conduit will show up, but for now we will maintain course. Seeing you woke after approximately fourteen days, we presume we will encounter one in that same amount of time."

"And I will remember nothing." I check the information I've been given.

"We think not. You never told B'Ellanna about your time here, or anyone else for that matter. Also, you would probably have prevented the Val Jean of ever going into the Badlands. Apparently, you never found the cause of you two-week-coma. B'Ellanna said she'd been worried sick and sat with you, counting the artifical heartbeats and breaths your lifesupport facilitated you with. One day you woke up and simply carried on with your life." _Definitely sounds like me. _

"Right." I say. The thought that in two weeks I will be patting Tuvok on the shoulder for a job well done almost breaks me in half. I will be standing next to him, making an utter fool of myself, mistaking his misleadings for the truth. _Two weeks, after that I'll just be my ignorant self again. _

I go through the facts in my head and find the focus calms me. "What do we know of this being?"

"Not much" Janeway admits as she taps in a few commands on a panel in the table and shows me the raw data. "It doesn't seem sentient. We think it resides in the transwarp conduits of the borg hub and randomly appears at its exits, which could be..anywhere basically. It's almost as if the time distortion was a mirror between two versions of you," She somewhat looses herself as she theorizes and I'm amused to see she finds it so thrilling. "One in the past, in the Alpha quadrant, and another version here with us, in the Delta quadrant. The moment we entered the transwarp hub your body got so close to the mirror you became one with your reflection. Your past self was pulled in like a magnet" She slams two fists together as if that makes it easier to understand. The excited look dissapears off her face as she realises I'm somewhat of a patient and her explanation is her bedside manner. I like the idea of her fussing over me. "We think you were more susceptible to it than the other Maquis because you had been sleeping at the time. The next time will probably also occur while you sleep; during the REM-phase to be specific."

"What if this is the first time, and I will actually remember it this time. Then again, in a time loop there is no first time..is there?"

She holds up her hands in defeat "Temporal paradoxes, Chakotay, don't bother with them." She turns her chair to me and I'm glad to see she's more relaxed now. "What we need to focus on is your wellbeing. The doctor wil closely monitor your neural activity, it's severely hightened." She raises her shoulders, "You woke up from your coma just fine, now we need to make sure that 'our' Chakotay is okay once you ...'leave'."

She gives me a quizzical look. "...and with 'fine' I also mean 'reputation still intact'..."

I nodd and say "I understand."

"You have a lot to lose here. This crew holds you in the highest regard, as do I." Her eyes plead with me as she carefully pronounces the words. "...these people depend on you." She can't possibly understand the impact that has on me.

I look down at my messed up hands and wish I could have a second chance at this, at this day and at making a first impression on her. My insanity and my chaotic life are of no interest to this captain and I don't want to bother her with them.

When I look up I notice something has changed: she's folded me under her wing and I am no longer her enemy. Somewhere in all her threats and warnings had been a reached out hand that I had gladly shaken. I imagine she's the Picasso of diplomacy _-and probably poker._

We are now a team. "I won't let you down." I say in the hope that she'll believe me.

"Good." She gets up and lays one hand on my shoulder, it's so small I barely feel its weight. "...you have two weeks to take a look around." She warms me with an exhilarating smile and concludes:

"..welcome to your future."


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks for reviewing! _

**Day 2, 21:14h. **

With a portable computer on my lap and a bowl of noodles under my chin I readjust the pillow in my lower back. The headboard of the standard bed is a comfortable one to lean against. _It seems_ _Starfleet actually designs the ship for workaholics who take their work to bed. _

I scan the screen in front of me.

_Dutyrosters_, no,

_Shipwide announcements_, no,

_Shipschematics,_ no,

_Mission specifics,_ I wonder what she came up with, but for now, no,

_Policies and Directives, _hell no,

_Ship Personell, _no,

_Trajectories, _no,

_Charts,_ no,

_Mess hall menu_, that's just sad,

_General Forums, _maybe later,

_Talent Night, _definite yes, but later,

_Timetable, _no,

_Multimedia, _that sounds interesting.

A list of sub-options unfolds as I tap the control. I shift the hot bowl of noodles to my other hand, take a spoonful of the salty mush, and scroll down the options.

_Audio, _no,

_Holo-images, _no,

_Holo-programs *unavailable at this station*,_ so no

_Video, _there we go.

The crew's lifeless reports and my monotonous personal logs had proved so mind-numbingly boring that I decided to take a different approach at informing myself of life aboard Voyager. Eager to leave my court-martial-worthy offence from this afternoon behind me, I look forward to an anonymous peak into these peoples lives.

_Specified Search:..._

_What to search for?_ I pick a chronological list of public video entries instead and play the very first file ever published on board the ship.

_Dalby is seen coughing as he slams his fist against his chest. "Recording for posterity?" He asks with a red face. "I'm just collecting evidence for later reference" Seska's voice has it's usual wickedness, it's playfull but everything she says tells you she's a bad influence. The image pans to the left and reveals Hogan pouring some alcoholic beverage into short glasses. "What are we celebrating Hogan?" He looks up and obviously doesn't like being filmed. "Come on, Seska." He pleads. He had always been conscientious and afraid to dissapoint his superiors. The frame further scans the room. They're in crews quarters, telling of multiple beds in the background. B'Ellanna is standing at a window, she has her hand on Gerron's shoulder and she's assuring him of something as he intently studies his shoes. "B'Ellanna!" Seska asks from behind the camera "Make a toast!" B'Ellanna pivots on a heel and eagerly approaches the group at the table. "Allright then," She says as Hogan hands everyone a drink. More crewmen gather around; they're all Maquis, or rather former Maquis. "What are we celebrating, B'Ellanna? Tell our viewers!" Outgoing as she is, Seska obviously enjoys her role as reporter. B'Ellanna raises her glass and says "As your new Chief Engineer I expect you all sober during the early shift. So drink up and hit the save-button as you do it, knowing your tolerance for alcohol it'll probably be your last." People laugh and raise their glass "Correction!" B'Ellanna shouts over the mumbling crowd "..only Bendera is assigned to Engineering, rest of you aren't my problem." Another fit of laughter fills the room. "Nice!" Bendera shouts his response from somewhere behind the camera. "Hey, I was under the impression we'd get away with coming in late and faking reports." Seska pouts with dissapointment. B'ellanna smiles and winks at the camera "Can you imagine?" She says. The image shakes and turns around. The akward angle now shows Seska's face from below as the camera is closed up to her chin. "No evidence to use for future blackmail, Torres has probably melted for Careys charms." Dalby enters the frame as he lays his head on her shoulder "How about you, fallen for any charms lately?" Seska smirks "That is definitel-"_

She's cut off by the Starfleet symbol in the centre of the screen. It's a short recording but I can't help but feel homesick for the easy going comraderie. I couldn't help but notice a subtextual tension common to the Maquis, however. Outgoing individuals create a certain ambiance and play an essential role in the process of tolerance or exclusion of members of the group. A dangerous kind of power. Introverts are prone to adapt to them and often prefer to keep to themselves. In the case of the Maquis the whole of the group is no greater than the mathematical sum of its parts, the opposite is true. _A macho-culture where social-status is the highest achievement, rather than professional affirmation of a superior, will do that to people. _It's a sad realisation. Bendera and Hogan had been of the introverted kind and always hung around Seska. All three are no longer with us.

I take another spoonfull of noodles to aid my dry mouth in swallowing the lump in my throat. Filled with nostalgia I scroll further down the list and hope the next one will lift my spirits. I select one at random that says 'Utter Failure'. A loud, far too cheerful tune fills my bedroom and I almost throw my hot noodles across my chest as I quickly turn down the volume.

_The colors are as overwhelming as the sound had been. Paris stands near an impressive pyramid of tin cans and is wildly waving his arms at the surrounding crowd as if to make a selection form his spectators. His hideous, hawaiian shirt waves in the process. Bright sunlight and hula-dancers tell me they're on the holodeck. Circling the table that holds the tower of cans, Paris moves his head somewhat like a chicken on the beat of the music *Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Ba-Barbara Ann* -I'm not surprised I've never heard the tune before. His face is dead-serious until he seems to have selected his victim and grabs Janeway from the crowd. Onlookers welcome her with loud whistles and cheers so she nodds her less then sincere thanks as Paris positions her in front of the table. He excites the crowd with more chickenlike funnywalks and armwaving while Janeway studies the pyramid with the dedicated concentration of a surgeon. Finally, after carefull consideration, she places her hand on a can on the bulging side of the tower. There's no way of telling by the audio since the music is still going loud, but by the look of facial expressions and hand-covered mouths, I can tell people have fallen silent as Janeway makes the risky move of removing her can from the fragile structure. Her lips are squeezed together and her free hand lingers frozen against her hip. The pyramid starts to collapse and Janeways hands fly upward until they're next to her face, fingers spread, tendons visible and tensed with shock and anxiety. It does her no good; the countless cans come crashing down and engulf her in a waterfall of metal. She drops her shoulders and guilt occupies her face. A regretful smirk is to convince her crew of the role she plays. A loud "Aaaah" originating from all around the circle of spectators can be heard over the music and Paris puts a comforting arm around her shoulder. I can tell it makes her feel included. She gracefully accepts the applause and kicks aside some of the disobliging cans "...and Captain Janeway takes home the hula-hoop!" He's so loud she covers her ear with a protective hand, laughs and gently punches him in the chest. The image is roughly pulled upward as the camera moves down to a browish tiled floor before it fades to black. _

With the music gone my bedroom suddenly feels empty. I try to recapture the mindless fun I had just witnessed and drag my finger backward over the timeline. The cans fly up from Janeways feet as they form the perfect pyramid and Paris' head imitates a rewinding chicken, it makes it look more rediculous than it already had. I pause the image when Paris guides her towards the game. I zoom in and bring the screen closer by bending my knees. Paris holds Janeways hand and for a moment she looks in the direction of the camera. It's a moment of bared self-consciousness that doesn't stand out if watched at normal speed. She wears a green flower in her hair and her kneelenght dress is adorned with a matching white-green pattern. Her hair is longer and lingers in mid air as she was just turning her head towards the filmingdevice. _Curious..._

_*Beep-Beep* _

I lean over to my nightstand to reach for my badge.

"Go ahead."

No reaction.

_*Beep-Beep*_

Damn, it's the door.

I put my noodles aside and tap the computer so Janeways image dissapears. _Better not get caught eyeballing the captain. _I grab my uniform pants as I move to the livingarea.

*_Beep-Beep*_

"Come in"

The doors open to reveal Seven. Backed by the bright light from the corridor she looks even more radiant than she had in the turbolift.

"Seven?!" She raises her borg-enhanced eyebrow when she sees me take a little leap as I lift my pants.

"They're just not comfortable if you don't do the jump." I say with a wink. "I must say, I hadn't expected you here." I look at her in earnestness as I continue "I don't know who you are Seven, and I hope you're not offended by my...forwardness...this afternoon."

She steps in to let the door close and folds her hands behind her back. "I am not." She says.

"Good. I'm relieved." I feel somewhat exposed. My cover is obliterated, in part by the woman in front of me, and I'm underdressed; she wears high heels and a suit that can't possibly be comfortable, her hair is flawless and I wonder if her fair skin has ever had to host a pimple or a rash. I myself am barefooted, wearing a none Starfleet shirt that isn't tucked in and can only guess the state of my hair. _I'm actually pretty sure it's a frantic jumble, no guessing required. _Not knowing what to say I catch myself nodding too eagerly and I feel like Paris performing his chickendance. _Snap out of it. Take control. _

"You're welcome none the less." I pull out a seat and gesture for her to sit down.

"I prefer to stand" she says.

"Really? On those heels?" I smile, but my bad joke is lost on her.

"Would you like a drink?" I offer instead.

"I'm only here to return your rankbar." The thing looks tiny in her hand as she holds out her arm. She looks silly somehow, standing in front of me, stiff as wood, with her face set tight and her arm stretched out at me. I smile and scratch my cheek to hide my amusement.

"Have a seat, Seven." I accept the rankbar. "Come on, just sit down."

She sighs and does as I ask.

"I'm having tea, how about you?" She nods and it occurs to me that she looks more natural standing stiff as wood, than she does sitting stiff as wood. _I wonder if sitting down in that suit could cause her to faint._

"Tea will be fine." she says. She seems insecure and I decide to make her feel at ease.

"I was just doing some research on the crew actually, be careful the cup is hot, they're a varied group aren't they."

She looks at her mug as I set it down in front of her and something tells me she's not the biggest fan of the beverage.

"How did you experience them when you came aboard the ship, if you don't mind me asking."

"They avoided me." The cold manner in which it is said makes the statement even more chilling.

"Seven, that's horrible." I put down my tea as I sit straight and empathetically direct my body towards her.

"They were right to do so. I considered myself Borg and tried to sabbotage the ship."

I didn't see that coming. "Oh," I sit back in my seat "I see." I can't imagine what that must've been like, Janeway welcoming the Borg aboard Voyager. "..things have changed I hope?"

"They have indeed. I am now part of this crew. Part of...the family." She looks down at the awareness of her vulnerability.

"That's great." I say. "I can imagine being part of a close knit group like this one must feel safe, must feel like home." I'm shocked at my own words. I said it to comfort her, cheer her up even though she didn't need cheering. Only this morning I had been willing to blow the ship to pieces and it's captain along with it. The mere idea seems to physically hurt now. I had meant what I said.

Seven probably hadn't registered my effort of comforting her. She is distracted by something in the corner of the room. "Chakotay, there is something on your floor." I raise my eyebrows.

Her use of my name, while I'm sitting right in front of her, seems unpersonal.

Unable to answer her question I follow her gaze. "Oh right. My medicine bundle. I had believed it to be a fake so deemed it best to throw it across the room." Again, my bad joke is lost on her.

She looks at me intently and stands to pick it up.

"I don't know what's inside, but that's actually a very personal thing, you know."

"I know," she says "...I am surprised you threw it away."

"Like I said, I didn't know it was mine. I must've assembled it while on Voyager."

She had already started to undo its leathery rope when she asks "May I open it?"

"Why would you want to do that?" I ask in confusion.

"I wonder what's inside. You mentioned it doesn't feel like it's yours. Does the idea of my opening it bother you?"

The rope is undone and all that seperates us from the objects inside is a meak piece of leather. She puts me on the spot.

I lift my shoulders "Er, not particularly, I guess, no..."

I'm left no time to reconsider as she unfolds the skin and studies the knick knacks inside. I sit up in my chair and maximize my length to see what she has uncovered.

One by one she holds the seemingly worthless curiosities and speculates on their origin.

Her disgust is clear as she lifts a ravens wing with her thumb and indexfinger; trying to touch it as little as possible. It's cast to the table and Sevens interest is peaked by a test-tube the wing had uncovered. She turns it so she can read its label.

"What does it say?" I ask.

Her face thightens as she looks at it too long and with too much intent. I'm sure there had only been a few scribbled words but she's staring at it for several long seconds.

"Well?" I ask again. "What does it say?"

She looks at me with saddened eyes. I've hurt her. "What is it?" I ask. She inhales through her nose and swallows sharply.

"On several occasions you have told me of you apprehension to share you medicine bundle. You said it represents the most essential parts of your identity." She seems genuinely unsettled.

I'm not sure if her outline of the situation contains a question or an accusation. "Clever of you to investigate now then." I smile at my own remark as I no longer expect her to do so.

"So?" I ask her finally.

She remains silent.

"Thank you for the tea."

I look at her mug. "You haven't touched it" I say.

"I have some thinking to do" it's no explanation for her sudden unease.

"Seven, what's wrong?"

I move to stand but she raises a hand at me.

"I will see you at...I will see you soon." She says, nods her final goodbye and leaves the room. At she exits she almost bumps into B'Ellanna.

"Helloooo," B'ellanna 's presence drastically changes the room. "I've come to introduce you to someone."

Still baffled I sit back in my seat and am overwhelmed by the anomaly she pushes into my arms.

The smell of babyproducts invades my nose and the realness of the infant freezes me.

"Oh, I don't think.." B'ellanna's not listening though.

"I thought you could use a familiar face." She drops a bag she had hanging off her shoulder and plumps down on the seat Seven had been sitting on. "Listen, -No, you're not doing that right..." She gets up to readjust my still stretched out arms to properly support the baby, regardless of my objections. "Listen, she's gorgeous but I really don't think I.."

Protests are ignored as she keeps japping and unpacks the bag. My table is covered with clutter and baby-related devices I've never seen before. All I can do is look at the child as she drewls on my shirt. I try to recall the last time I've held a baby this young but I'm starting to think I never have.

"...so he'll be here in a moment. The flyer docked ten minutes ago." I look up as I realise she's announcing more visitors. "Wait, what? Who'll be here?"

"Are you listening?" She says "_My husband_ has something to tell you, and he'll be here soon." She stands and circles the table to look over my shoulder. With one finger she caresses her daughters bulgy cheek. "..just look at her." She whispers proudly.

She puts both her hands on my shoulders. "I have to step out for a minute...No!" She immediately adds as she sees my predictable shock. "No! You'll be fine, just keep rocking her. She just ate, you have nothing to worry about. Worst she can do is throw up on you." She returns her attention to her baby and hightens her voice "yeah, honey, you might just puke on him won't you?..._yes, you just might_!" She turns to me and shakes her head assuringly. "..she won't." The voice she saves for me is lower and less considerate.

Kneeling beside me she turns more serious. "I'll only be gone _one _minute; just promise me, _please promise me_, that when he gets here you remember that he is _the love of my life_ and..." shifting her loving gaze back to Miral she adds "...and the father of this little bundle of joy." She kisses the baby's top of the head and then kisses mine.

She leaves without any further ado. The doors shut close and panic takes hold of me. _What do I do if she cries. _I look around to see if there's something that can assist me, but nothing in the pile of rubble seems to be of immediate help.

I look back down at the baby. She has puffy cheeks and seems utterly content in my arms. I wish her eyes were open _then again, perhaps it's better that she sleeps. _I can't help but smile and wish I could trace her tiny ridges or carress her cheek like her mother had before but I find I'm afraid let go of my hold. B'Ellanna has specifically placed my hands so that they support the baby and I don't know how fragile the tiny thing is. _I can't even use the lavatory. She's imobilized me._ I move my nose over her warm head and feel the thin, dark hair on my lips. "Aren't you precious?"_ Wow, that's a new voice right there._ The squeaky sound is one I don't think I've ever produced before. I clear my throat and repeat in a manly, more fitting tone "Aren't you precious." I gently rock her and rest my cheek on her soft hair again. I can feel her breathing and she totally surrenders her relaxed body as she hangs in my arms. It makes me feel as though I've accomplished something, just by sitting here, in my surreal and dimlit quarters. I try to remember what I know about babies. _Nothing, my mind goes utterly blank. _I suddenly realise the fontanelles in her skull probably haven't closed yet and quickly remove my cheek off her head. _Shit, there's only skin protecting her brain. _

*_Beep-Beep_*

"Come in" I say with relief.

An apprehensive Paris enters the room with big steps, takes a deep sigh and promptly starts a well-practiced speech.

"Chakotay, I've heard about your predicament, and, since you'll probably find out anyway, you might as well hear it from me." He holds up his hands at me. _People do that a lot here._ "Not that I would've kept it from you otherwise..but..you know...Anyway, I want you to hear it from me."

"Paris, take your daughter, I might damage her brain."

"What?" He's doesn't understand. "I wanna get this out first." He takes a deep breath and enforces himself with two fists in front of his chest. "...I rejoined Starfleet."

I remain still. "So did I, apparently."

"No," he says "I mean... before Voyager." He sighs. "Well no, that's not true either, not before Voyager, but before the Delta quadrant." Shortly pausing to estimate my reaction he only continues when he finds I'm not moving. "Captain Janeway gave me a chance to redeem myself." Eyeing me with trepidation he corrects himself "Well, I say 'redeem' but..I mean...repay. _Repay_ Starfleet." His forhead wrinkles in selfdoubt "I was in a detention centre you see." He starts pacing "... while you were in a coma, I was arrested." With arms raised in a grand gesture of helplessness he says "the mission was a disaster! How couldn't it be, with Tuvok.." He freezes as he realises it's best not to mention that name. "_Anyway,_ I was so desperate to get out of that damn...oh shit," he says as he realises he's swearing in front of his daughter and stretches out apologetic hands. "We agreed to not swear in front of her" he whispers as though it would benefit the child. "So there you have it," back on his normal volume he continues "I willingly went with the Captain. She had a good offer. I couldn't resist."

He stands still and awaits my judgement with the eyes of an innocent lamb and a chin held high.

Janeways face comes to mind. Her smile had strenghtened my determination to keep my promise of behaving myself in a way worthy of a commander. I sigh and look down at the baby in my arms. B'Ellannas ruse is perfectly clear. She's protected her husband by imposing her daughter on me. Who could scream and roar while holding such a young, unspoiled life? She's a more powerful defence than any forcefield would be.

"Thank you for telling me, Paris." His daughter looks nothing like him. Her hair is dark and her forehead ridged; the spitting image of her mother. "It's...not my business, I guess."

His whole persona relaxes at my words. "Thanks, old man! I must say you had me breaking a sweat there for a while!" He sits down at the chair that had previously been occupied by Seven and B'Ellanna.

"Oh, she hasn't touched her tea?" he takes a sip and sits back. "So, no hard feelings?"

"No," I say. "No hard feelings. It's Tom right? Sorry, you had just enlisted, can't keep up with the recruits."

"Oh, Right! Of course, stupid of me. Yes. Tom. Tom Paris." He chuckles. "That's funny."

He takes another sip of Sevens tea and we share a short silence.

"Is there anything I can do for you? Can't imagine what you're going through right now."

"For one, you could take your daughter." He immediately jumps up and frees my hands so I can scratch my nose that just now starts to itch. Glad to have retrieved the ability to move I roll my shoulders and move another chair into my vicinity so I can rest my arm on its back.

With well-practiced ease he lays the little girl over his shoulder, puts one hand under her bottom and still has one hand free for his tea. _Impressive. _

"Seriously though. Anything I can help you with?"

I feel disenchanted. Lonely even. Tuvok a spy, Seska a defector _and a spy_, Paris a ..._well, whatever he is. _I can't judge him right now, looking all sincere and fatherly with Miral in his arms.

"I don't know." I say as I'm staring at the baby. "I'm tired." Realising he might take that as a hint to leave I'm quick to add "..would you like a drink? I could use the company."

He nods in understanding. "Got something stronger that tea? It's gone cold by the way." I look at the cup that's half empty and realise he must have really been nervous; to be drinking cold tea.

"We could play some cards?" He suggests hopefully. "I'll hail Harry and B'Ellanna, they're probably waiting outside the door anyway." He laughs and looks clumsy; sitting at the cluttered table nervously giggling at the thought of his wife standing outside the door. I shake my head in amusement and get up to replicate the drinks.

"You do that." I say "What'll it be, does this thing replicate a good whiskey?" Tom laughs again "I'd forgotton you used to drink that stuff!" He starts to repack B'Ellannas babybag so the table is cleared for our game. "I don't know, Jack Daniels is fine. Paris to Torres and Kim."

"Allright," I tell myself. "Jack it is."

_*Go ahead.*_

_*-Kim here._*

"Up for a game of poker? Chakotays quarters."

_*On my way, Torres out.* _

_*I'll be there in five, Kim out.*_

"Before they do" I say as I put down a bottle and four heavy glasses in front of him. "I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What's that?" He's still eager to help me.

"What kind of leader is captain Janeway? What's she like?" I pause before I ask my most urgent question. "What's her name?" _I can't believe I didn't think to look it up before. _

He smiles as he keeps packing the bag. "She's a good captain, great even, not everyone would have managed to bring our two crews together, mind you. Oh, thats not mine" He says as he holds the birdwing. "She's addicted to the work and insanely dedicated. Her future-self traveled back in time to get us home. It's thanks to her that we only have six more years to go now." He looks at me to see if I'm appropriately impressed by her glorious feat. "Fun fact: she was an _admiral _when she returned -not a vice-admiral, no, an _admiral__._" He points the dead wing at me to validate his point and subsequently resumes packing. "Proud number one on Starfleets most wanted list, but and admiral none the less!" We share a laugh as I find myself fascinated and hanging on his every word. My interest encourages him. "Never half-asses a thing, not even being a criminal." He smiles at the memory but turns more serious. He doesn't want me to think less of her, like law-breaker. "She loves anything sciency," He throws an approving glance at the generous glass I pour him "Oh and coffee, crazy about the stuff." I put the glass in front of him. "Let's see, she always manages to have her cake and eat it to...you know?" I nodd but I really don't. "She's creative so she sees alternatives where others don't. Does that make sense?" It does make sense. Very much so. "What else? Oh right, it's Kathryn. Her name is Kathryn Janeway. We never say the name though." He raises his shoulders and holds up his free handpalm "..she's the captain you know, it's disrespectful."

"Right." I say and let the name roll over my tongue as if were an expensive whine. ".._Kathryn.."_ Simple. Classical. It's a good name and it suits her.

"Uh-huh." He casually throws a babybottle in the bag and folds a few socks that soon follow.

"What this?" He says as he holds the test-tube Seven had inspected earlier. "You collect dirt off planets you visit? I didn't know that! I hope you don't have one labelled 'Demon planet'."

I reach for the glass tube filled with dirt, still not knowing what about the thing it was that had stunned Seven.

"New Earth." I read off the label. ".._New Earth_..." I try the word again. _No, it holds no meaning._

I shake off the thought and clap my hands on my knees.

"Let's play some poker!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Day 7, 12:06h. **

"Think about it, beauty is common. What's rare is a great outlook on life. Tell me, what is it about you that would make me want to know you as more than a mere face in the crowd?"

She smiles knowingly and remains unconvinced.

"Who says I want you to?"

I'm shocked. "Oh, that's good." I say and suck the greasiness of the pawn crackers off my thump. "I must admit, I've asked many women and _none_ have given me _that_ answer." I chuckle again. "You get points for that."

She shakes her head in disbelief and directs a warm "Thank you" at Chell as he renews our water and puts down another portion of fried rice.

"You can get those points back if you tell me their best answer." She says.

Giving someone proverbial points usually has a certain effect; women feel privileged or assured, maybe playful. They might even try to get more and get all flirtatious. Not Kathryn though, she just hands them right back. It amuses and intrigues me. She's impervious to my tricks and I can't believe how she manages to disarm me with such ease.

I look down at the vegetables on my plate, all soaked in spicey soy sauce, and rub my forehead.

"The best answer anyone ever gave me to that question?" I ask.

"hmm-mm" she nods with a full mouth. Once she's swallowed she continues "..what were the best character traits you encountered in your endless string of women? I wonder." Checking the time on her padd to see how much time we have she arches her eyebrow and with slight annoyance she adds "...please don't tell me you forgot."

I look out the viewport behind her and consider some of the answers. It must take longer than she'd expected because her jaw drops and she slightly tilts her head to her left. "How interested in their psyche you must have been" she playfully accuses me.

The messhall is so crowded we have to speak up to hear each other but also lean over the square table to keep our quasi-innocent words to ourselves. It's almost as if her gettaway from deck one is unseemly and scandalous. My teasing may seem harmless and won't be so explicit as to provoke her, but I have somehow kindled a spark in her eyes that she tries to hide from the people around us.

"I do remember one that stands out actually," even though her dissapointment in me is a silly act I feel the need to proof to her that I'm not some shallow conman. I want to be better than that.

"A girl I met in a club on Jupiter station lived by the idea that happiness comes from encountering unexpected positive events." She shifts in her seat and I can tell I peaked her interest.

"What do you think she did?" I ask her.

She sips her water and raises her shoulders.

"Once a week she'd take a random transport and ask a stranger if she could travel with him for a day. About a third of everyone she asked took great pleasure in showing her around places she'd otherwise never get to visit. She claimed a maintenance guy once showed her the Presidents office."

"Oh, that's good." she says as she relishes the anecdote I just shared with her. "_The_ Presidents office?"

"So she said. I'm told he keeps vintage comics in his deskdrawer -the explicit kind."

"Ha!" I drew out a laugh and she can't supress a cough. "Really good." She says breathlessly form behind the hand that covers her mouth.

"Come on," I try. "Lunchtime only lasts half an hour, you'll be out of here in no time. Humor me," I have totally forgotten about my food "...what would _your _answer be?"

My eyes are on hers but are distracted as she rubs her lips together. One hand is still placed flatly below her throat; a leftover from her coughing fit.

"What have you got to lose? My knowledge of it will be nonexistent by the end of the week." I don't like reminding us of my 'departure', but I feel it fits into the conversation. I envy my older self for having limitless access to her whereas I'm confined to only one more week.

"Captain, Commander." Harry and Ayala pass our table with empty plates and the use of my rank goes by unnoticed. Their seats are immediately taken by crewmembers who had been waiting by the counter. The crowded messhall hosts more personell than I've seen so far. 'Wednesdays are busiest' Ayala had said upon our entrance. I had excused myself from his company as I had seen captain Janeway sitting alone in the centre of the room. She hadn't had her lunch here before. Most her time is spend up on deck one, which is off limits for me. Apparently making an exception for Wednesdays usual buzz, her attention had still been devided between her asian meal and a padd, denying herself some well-deserved relaxation. In comparison to others, hers had been an empty table; an Island of order and dilligence in a see of noisy hedonists.

"What makes me stand out in a crowd?" Checking to see if I'm serious her gaze passes mine before it scans the cramped room. She enjoys having her crew around her, especially in an upbeat ambiance like this one.

"I don't have an answer." She finally decides. "And I find it simplifies a person." One corner of her mouth curls upward as she realises her exaggerated principal is just an excuse.

I never thought of it that way. "You don't have an answer?" That had surprised me.

"No." She says firmly. "Do you?"

I lean my elbows on the table as I take her in. I take my time and she meets my eyes head on.

"I mean about yourself." She says impish as she leans over her plate.

"I'd rather think about yours." It's a risk and I know it. Then again, I don't really have anything to lose; a week in the brig at most.

A loud, rattling sound fills the room and about 60 heads turn toward the counter. Chell appears from his kitchen, composed and confident, takes a stand in front of his audience and takes a dramatic bow. Icheb and Marikah follow to help him with the fallen plates and kitchenutencils as several crewmembers pat his shoulder. I turn back to Kathryn and find the laughter in the room doesn't effect her. Her attention remains on me.

"The times you've seen me I can probably count on two hands. Don't you think it's pretty cheeky for you to presume you can analyze me."

"Well," I say "...isn't it all about first impressions?"

"Okay," taking up the gauntlet as if it were a weightless rose, she shoves her unfinished plate aside and settles her elbows on the table to mimic my body language.

"You tell me mine, I'll tell you yours." She sounds breezy but her naughty smirk doesn't match her tone.

I feel as though she's about the pull my chair from underneath me but I can't resist to tip my toe into the treacherous water.

"Deal." I say.

I take the initiative, "you like to make people think they know you, that it takes you no effort to get personal with them. But actually you don't like it when someone sees through you. You fake emotional transparancy by answering people with questions or common knowledge." I raise a hand to show I'm not yet finished "...this is a good trait because it makes you both accessible and mysterious at the same time."

She can't supress a smile that shows off her teeth. She's actually enjoying this.

"Impressive." Cutting short the chemical reaction that takes place somewhere between us, she leans back to take a mindless sip from her water. "You are _so_ different" she says into her glass before she puts her imaginary armor on, settles back into her leaned over position and bites her lowerlip in deliberation of her first move.

We still mirror each other, except she's small and slender. Her elbows don't even surpass the edge of the table whereas I must seem to be at a childrens tea-party and feel oversized in comparison. Our hunched over position leaves our faces too close to each other. If someone would hold a lightbulb between us it would spontaneously light up, I'm sure.

It's her turn.

"You have a certain way people." She starts.

"What?" I ask but she lightheartedly holds up her hand and imitates my earlier gesture.

"You now think it's a strenght to confront men with aggression and women with sex. It's not though, is it?" _Don't look down. Don't lose eyecontact._ She squints her eyes as she deconstructs my every expression like I'm an equation to be solved. "It's a very bold and effective defence mechanism because people are taken aback by it. Plus, I'm sure you do it quite well" She realises her blunder and is quick to add "...confront them with it I mean."

"This is a good trait though. I happen to know this testosterone driven..." her lips keep getting drawn into a wicked smile and I see she doesn't mind my 'testosterone driven' side at all "...this...basic instinct makes way for understanding as you age. Still, you know _very_ well what effect your actions have on others and you know just what instrument to use on them, whether it's a punch or an ancient legend. I think you learned that from all this confronting that you do now." She looks smug and is proud of her little psychoanalysis. "You're not cunning, you could be if you wanted to, but you're too..._kind_ for that. You have a good heart and it happens to come with a finely tuned social antenna." A nearby star casts its rays through the viewport as we pass a moon and all colors in the room liven up. "Like I said, you have a way with people." She concludes with sepia-toned features.

Environmental control must be struggling to keep up with half the crew clotted together like sardines in a can. The stars rays reveal tiny dustflakes and twirling gusts of smoke originating from Chells stove. Bowls and pans with refills along with containers of bread and bottles of water are handed from table to table. I feel as though I'm looking through a lense with enhanced focus though; every thing the star bathes in warm, yellowy light seems to blur.

"Good game." She concludes unshaken.

"Yes," I say, "Good game."

We pause and remain in our mirrored position.

The sparkle in her eyes is still present and so I can't resist to ask "Will you tell me yours?"

"My what?" she asks.

"Your move, of course. I told you mine."

"What makes you think I have one?" She asks innocently.

I chuckle. _She's something else._ "If you were to tell me I'd only know for one week." I say.

"Hmmm," she pretends to consider my words "..no point then is there?"

I open my handpalms and lift my shoulders. "Then again, what damage could it possibly do?"

"What if you sneakily write it on a note for under your pillow?" She completes the image by sliding a napkin under her plate.

I can't help but insist "You have my word, there will be no note."

"More bread?" Matthews leans over from the table next to us.

I shake my head at him. "No, thank you." I say. Kathryn accepts the unsliced loaf none the less and passes it on to the group on my right.

We sit back simultaneously and both cross our arms and legs. Our provocative moment was fun while it lasted but the messhall, filled with onlookers, simply doesn't allow us to indulge in our risky game any longer.

"I should get back to the bridge." She says.

"Yes, you should." I say.

She stands and gathers her plate. As she walks by I can't resist to reach for her wrist. She looks down at me and I search for a reason to keep her in the warm light of the passing star just a little while longer.

"Have a good day" is all I can come up with.

"Yes." She's somewhat stiff and perhaps even dissapointed. "You to." She squeezes my wrist and takes her leave.

I wonder if anyone noticed how we got too close.

_One week. _

I got the feeling it won't be enough.

"Mind if I join you?" I look around to find Mortimer Harren standing behind me. He doesn't wait for my answer and his flow of words overwhelms me. "I've taken a look at that conduit that will open somewhere next week, like the captain asked me?" He looks at me for confirmation and is quick to continue. "I just handed her my report. The outcome of my calculations entails five coordinates to be most likely, they're all in the vicinity, but I need more time to pinpoint which one it will be."

I've remembered my dinner, and also that I don't like Chinese food. "Impressive." I tell him. I can tell he enjoys my admiration.

"Well, when she said 'transwarp conduit' I thought she was being vague on purpose. A layman would use such a term! The _spatial fissure_ we're searching for, of course, had my interest the moment she handed me the data."

B'Ellanna had told me how Harren preffered to be stationed below-decks, as did every engineer upperdecks, and I'm starting to understand why. Glad to see he's socializing however, I encourage him in his enthusiasm. _Lunch only lasts half an hour, how long can mine still be?_

"Well, the fissure appears in a cyclical nature. It's centre, the Borg-hub, is in constant movement due to its magnetic fields, so the fissure's aperture is thrown around space like whip!-_Woah sorry_!" In his grand gesture he almost knocks over the waterbottle in front of me. "I was working with professor Sporok of the theoretical physics department in T'paals State University on Vulcan. He was looking for a similar fissure in the Tessla-region."

"Is that so?" I ask.

"Oh yes. He never got to finish his work though. He died in an earthquake, our faculty was just a sad heap of rubble." His mind strays. "I got out thanks to some freak coincidence." He snapps himself out of it. "I don't believe in fate sir, all nonsense..." With a padd held up next to his face he adds "..but it feels good to finish his work for him none the less."

"I can imagine. It's really very impressive, Mortimer." I say. He suddenly has a glazy look on his face.

"Not even my mother called me Mortimer."

"Oh I'm...sorry I didn't-" My excuse is interrupted. "No, it's fine." He says with creepy content "People here do that now."

I nodd with raised eyebrows and scan the surrounding tables to see if anyone can save me from this awkward moment.

"Right." I say.

**Day 8, 00:56h.**

"Can I just check in with you?" I say as I rest my hands on her shoulders. I'ts a daring move but she allows it.

Our eyes meet in the mirror. She fakes ignorance and gives me a questioning look "Hmm?"

I take my time watching her fuss with her hair; hair that doesn't need readjusting at this time of night. I can't read her at times like these _-times like these?_ ...there haven't _been '_times like these'.

"How do you feel?" I ask.

"Well," she starts "..I feel.." breathing in through her teeth she says "...selfconscious." Her words are bold with honesty, unlike her hurried hands. With a sense of formality and with the ease of a spider spinning its web, she rolls up thick streaks of hair into some classy updo. It's a routine activity and it seems to uphold the pretense of us sharing a reflection on a daily basis.

"..awkward" she corrects herself.

I smile knowingly and kiss the bare skinned shoulder between two of my caressing fingers. Only a moment ago I stood next to the bed, holding my uniform, contemplating my next action. _Should I leave? Perhaps yell out to her?_

I had been surprised to find her outside my door, holding a bottle of whine and two glasses. 'We have something to celebrate' she had said. It had been the first time Voyager had encountered hostile alienships since the Borg, an armada of hostile alienships no less. They had showed up, out of the blue, and had obliterated our shields within seconds. The futuristic armorplating however, had only lost two percent of its structural integrity after enduring minutes of heavy attacks. No vibrations were cast up through our legs, no cups or padds had resonated off tables, no cooling systems overloaded with white smoke, no warnings of damage by the computer; not even the slightest tremor could be felt. If it hadn't been for the red lights we wouldn't even have noticed Voyager was in combatmode. It had taken one skillfully aimed transphasic torpedo and the coast had cleared. Elated with today's succes she had found her quarters too silent and unappreciative of her energy and optimism. Putting down the emptied whinebottle she had sat in front of me, on the coffeetable, hunched over with her elbows on her knees. The sparkle I had enjoyed in the afternoon had grown due to the whine and a raspy voice lazilly singing to the soulmusic in the background. "What are you doing?" I had asked. "Well, this is it." She'd said plainly. "What?" I hadn't understood. "..my move..". She'd smiled broadly and did nothing. Just sat there. _Some move._ I leaned over and she patted my knees on the beat of the music, playfully, only to let her hands linger, urging me to lean in closer. I hadn't needed the encouragement.

I'm familiar with getting rid of girls, not with thinking of excuses to make them stay. She can't do her hair with my hands on her shoulder and lips grazing her temple. "Why do you bother?" I ask, and add in a whisper "..you're beautiful." She looks down and searches a container of my toiletries, unable to find what she needs.

"Don't say that." She grins, pulls out a hairpin and starts over.

"Why not?"

"Where I'm from, we're not appreciated for our beauty." Finally, our eyes meet again and she drops her hands to her sides. I can tell she feels exposed wearing only underwear and her tanktop. She's brave though and only speaks with confident words.

"What do you want to be appreciated for then? When do you feel wanted?"

I lace our fingers into messy knots and circle her with our arms. She smiles and leans her temple against my jaw as she studies my reflection. "When I have good words." She says slowly "Because it makes me feel confident and reassured in what I have to say and what I'm thinking."

She chuckles and it occurs to me that, despite her apprehension she still dares to bare herself to me.

_Of course. _

Now that I look at her in my mirror I know she wouldn't be here if I would be able to remember it later.

I bury my nose in her hair and joke "I might just willingly fly off into the Badlands."

It's the worst thing I could have said. She stiffens and wriggles her fingers free from mine. She turns, places both her hands on my bare chest and with all her strenght pushes me away. I'm not even slightly brought out of balance but grand her her room and step back.

She's a different woman now.

"Swear to me.." she raises a hand, but decides she needs to gather more strength to properly convince me with. With closed eyes and both hands covering her mouth she takes a deep breath and braces herself before she continues. She looks like she's about to talk down a suicidal patient off a ledge.

"Swear to me...that if you remember...you will prevent us...from getting stranded."

Allthough I don't think I had meant it, her sudden shock hurts me. The thought of my anger and frustration back home causes my neckhair to raise and I can't imagine having a better future then this one right here, with B'Ellanna and her baby, with the crew, here on Voyager; here with her.

"We destroyed a Borghub, saved countless of lives, got a weary Maquis crew sorted out, shortened our mission to a maximum of, what, thirteen years?" I tug my ear and start pacing. "Everyone of this crew seems sickeningly merry, they're occupied more with talent night than with an armada of hostile aliens..." I hadn't been angry since my fight with Tuvok and it only occurs to me now. "...we don't only owe it to them to make this journey," I turn to her and point at nothing as I list what I've learned during my time on her ship "...we owe to everyone the Borg might've assimilated with the help of that hub, we owe it to species 8472 who might've lost the war, we owe it to the Ocampans, we owe it to Seven, Tom, Miral, Icheb, Marikah and what-are-their-names, _we owe it to our damn selves._"

She seethes and steps closer. "You haven't made this journey, you don't know what we've lost, _who _we've lost, don't you _dare_ make this decision for us."

"It's simple math though isn't it?" I plead.

"_Like hell it is!"_ She's raised her voice.

We look at each other in silence and are lightyears from our previous passion.

She turns away and with both hands leans on the sink. I can see her face in the mirror as her eyes glisten with tears of desperation.

"Don't tell me I've just condemned us to this godforsaken quadrant _again_." She looks up at me. My reflection looks small and dark in comparison to hers, so up close to the sink.

"I won't remember, Kathryn." I say firmly.

"We only figured you wouldn't because you hadn't acted like you had."

I let her words sink in and sigh in defeat.

She shakes her head and pushes herself from the sink so harshly it's like she tried to sever it from the wall.

"..Kathryn." I say as she walks past me.

Unable to tell our matching uniforms apart from each other she picks up random pieces of clothing from the ground before dropping them down again.

"...Kathryn." I try to reason with her. It's to no avail as she's already put on her jacket and searches the floor for a second boot.

"You're right." It takes everything to say it but she doesn't hear me.

"_You're right!"_ I yell in frustration.

Dropping her one boot to the floor she drops her head so low her chin almost touches her chestbone. She raises a hand to her eyes and for a moment I think she sobs.

White stripes outside the viewport fill the room with moving light. Without her heels on, in this soundless room with scattered clothing and a messed up bed, head down and torso breathing heavilly in relief, I find I can't deny her. _I won't see her for years. And I probably won't even mind it for she'll be erased from my memory. _

I walk up to her and embrace her but she only allows it for a short moment. Doubt has lain its seed into her mind and she won't risk my disobedience by making me fall in love with her. She thinks she can still undo that damage. "You're right." I assure her again. "Of course, you're right."

She releases herself from my hold and turns only her head. I see her shadowy profile as her lips move and whisper "...thank you."

It may be hesitant, and with less than half her previous speed, but she doesn't waiver from gathering her clothes.

I step back and realise what I've done.

She carefully removes her life from mine.

Empty whineglasses, her scent on the bedsheets and a soft engine-hum away from cold silence; the rooms she will leave me in are hollow and comfortless.

"..thank you." She's at a ninety-degree angle from me as she says her whispered goodbye and, much like I had in the messhall, I reach for her wrist. Shortly after I feel her skin she retrieves it and undoes my touch by circling it with her other hand. Only hours ago she had arched her back in the mere anticipation of my touch, now she'd flinched as though I'm an infectious disease.

She steps back and repeats a last "...thank you."


	8. Chapter 8

**Day 11, 02:13h.**

"Mortimer Harren was supposed to die."

Seven's voice has it's usual business-like monotony.

"Excuse me?" I say.

Silence.

Tom and B'Ellanna look down at their hands and Harry seems to be watching a tennis match -eyes shifting from me to the captain and back to me.

The conference room is dimlit in nighttime mode. It matches the mood of the senior staff who have all been hailed to join this meeting in the dark of night. Only the commanders seat is empty, _my seat I guess, _as I stand in front of the table, straight across from Kathryn.

"Headquarters contacted us this morning. I've asked them to do some research seeing our latest...freak of nature-event." Kathryn casually gestures at me. Her voice is bitter.

I look around for an explanation but no one indulges me.

Only Kathryn, and Harry with intervals, will grand me eyecontact. Even the doctor, who I had gotten to know as an ever-present know-it-all keeps his peace and looks away.

"Eight years ago a devastating quake took place on Vulcan." Janeway explains with a raised chin. I realise I'm standing trial. This will be very bad. "Mortimer Harren was in T'paal, the city that got the worst of it." She says.

I remember him telling me about the horrible incident, his professor had died, the one who taught him how to search for the transwarp conduit we are now searching for.

"Starfleet tells us he was saved in the nick of time by the _only _rescue vessel that got through to the region." I still don't understand. "You see, a Cardassian rebellion was taking place at the time, and rescue missions were postponed."

She pauses.

"Don't ask me why the Cardassians were there, some Federation convention, I don't know.." she waves it of with a hand.

"What's going on Kathryn?" I ask her.

"You know better than anyone else, that where there were Cardassians, eight years ago, there were Maquis as well." She says.

"So?" I ask.

"You cleared the road for Mortimer Harrens rescue misson, Chakotay. You saved his life. The Val Jean faught off those Cardassians." She pauses.

Tom blows his cheeks to round balls and B'Ellanna shoots a short glance at me to see how I'm holding up.

"You're welcome." I say.

"Don't you see?" Kathryn asks. "It's too coincidental if you ask me. The man who's responsible for getting you home is saved by a Maquis vessel, that had no business rescuing Starfleet officers _they were fighting_ against." She stood as she said the words and circles the table up to Tom's chair, on which she lays a hand.

"You promised you wouldn't let us get stranded if you remembered your time here and yet..here we are!" She makes a theatrical gesture with her free hand and turns to stand behind her seat at the head of the table.

"Wait a minute," I say "You all think I'll remember being here, once I'm send back to the past, just because I'll save a crewmember later in life? Is that what this is about?"

"Not _a _crewmember, _the_ crewmember that got you back to the Alpha quadrant." Seven corrects me.

I lean on the table and shake my head in disbelief. "I can't belief this. I can't explain what happened but...I speak the truth when I say that I will do everything I can to prevent this journey from happening. I keep my promises. Besides, I strongly doubt the fact that you wouldn't be able to find that conduit without him, he just had his homework done back in the Alpha quadrant. He beat you to it." I laugh at my own powerlessness.

"Hey, why would be doubt the guy." Tom tries.

"We were there because of the Cardassians, we'd planned to enter a vessel that was supposed to hold tactical information we needed. The rescuevessel we encountered may have been of Federation origin but Chakotay cleared the way for it because it's common war-law." B'Ellanna says as she does her best to back me up. "We didn't know Mortimer was down there. We didn't know the guy!"

"You didn't." Kathryn says and turns to me. "But did you?"

"In a way.." Harry chips in "If he really did let us all get taken by the Caretaker, then...doesn't that mean that our journey really hasn't...truly...been...for...the...best?"

Kathryn grants him a deadly glare "We are not having that discussion."

"Shouldn't we though?" Tom backs his friend.

"We did do a lot of good. A _lot_ of good. Only a few days ago I told him Voyager was more of a home to us than Earth had ever been," he says as he takes B'Ellanna's hand "I for one would thank him for flying into the Badlands." He looks at his friends to see what impact his words have. "I know it's been tough on all of us, and we've suffered losses, but look at what we managed to do. Look what lives we've saved. That counts for something to, right?"

"I would still be Borg." Janeway panics as even her trusted student, her friend, seems to disagree with her. _This is how Julius Ceasar must have felt. _

"I believe this matter has already been settled. Did we not toast to the journey before entering Borg space..?" I hadn't expected Tuvok to pitch in.

"I see." Kathryn says. "Doctor?"

"Hey, I wouldn't be a doctor, just a medical appliance if it hadn't been for the past seven years."

"Harry?" Kathryn pleads.

"I wouldn't want to have missed this for the world, captain." He looks around the room. "Literally. Seriously, it's funny how literal am." He chuckles but finds it's too soon to do so. Tom shakes his head at him, with closed eyes. Definitely too soon.

"Well, Chakotay. I seem to be outnumbered." Janeway approaches from behind her seat and walks over to me. When she's close to me she says. "You know how I feel, and if that holds any weight, than I'd advice you to keep us from getting lost." _Great. _I think.

"We don't know if I'll remember, captain. This whole Mortimer Harren thing is just a coincidence, I'm sure." I try.

"I hope so, Chakotay." She says. "I hope so."


	9. Chapter 9

**Day 15, 22:16h.**

The pulling force of this rooms artifical gravity is in a different angle from the one on other decks, allowing maintenance personell to approach the deflector cells more easily. Already feeling drunk while clumsily stepping into the room I had immediately understood the chambers attraction; a viewport covers the lenght and height of one wall, showing an impressive view of fleeting stars. The blue light of the deflector-dish forms an odd frame and a broad pipeline facing the window acts as a comfortable bench. _Well, it's comfortable enough._Our feet rest on two crates of Toms authentic beer. I can't pronounce its name, 'it's Flemish' he'd explained, 'best brew of the 20th century'.

"To an interesting two weeks!" Tom raises his glass bottle. I affirm him with a cling of my beer against his, as do B'Ellanna and Harry.

"It's been good getting to know the old you again..." B'Ellanna leans against me and has to reach past me to make her bottle join ours in the toast. We form a line in front of the broad viewport. The cramped space we're in forms the perfect setting to a welcome getaway. This narrow cleft between deflector cells has apparently hosted many alcohol-influenced escapes from shiplife -something in which the commander hadn't been asked to take part, _I _however, pose no threat to their shady behavior.

Tom and Harry will fly me to the conduit that is about to open off Voyagers port bow, keeping the ship and all its precious cargo away from the graviton radiation. I had felt the urge to pack things, in a way to mentally prepare for my departure, I guess. Standing in front of my closet, knowing full well I wasn't able to take anything with me, not even the smallest of souvenirs, B'Ellanna had offered the perfect escape and had invited me to join them for a last drink.

B'Ellanna nudges me with her shoulder, reminding me of our intimicy. "What was it Tuvok said when you wanted to shake his hand?" she asks with a wink. Tom pipes up and raises a finger "I think it was..." he pauses to let them both join him "...please keep your hands where I can see them!" They errupt in laughter and I tug my ear in embarresment. "We'll be quoting him on that one" Harry says.

"How long exactly is there between the two timelines?" Harry asks innocently. I chuckle and say "I'll tell you in dogyears." I take a big gulp before I continue "I feel so old; I went to sickbay to ask what was wrong with my neck and the doctor told me it was just old age catching up on me."

Tom punches me on the shoulder "..can't relate, man."

"Excuse me?" B'Ellanna leans over so that he can see the accusation written on her face. "..so when Miral cries in the middle of the night...and you moan about needing your sleep, that's really just...youthfulness talking?" Tom raises his eyebrows and gives her a know-it-all look. "We've discussed this, honey.." he says"..from one to seven she's _your _daughter." B'Ellanna is quick to respond "Mark my words, _honey,_ if I'm a single mother at _her_ bed, then I'm _definitely _a single one at ours." Tom snorts and needs a few seconds to respond "Geez, no need to play such high stakes. ...sure...I can get up." He says. "...I guess."

"Play nice," I say jokingly "...you two make a good couple." Longing must be on my face as B'Ellanna puts her hand on mine. She doesn't say that I'll get my happiness, or that I too will one day start a family, she simply squeezes my hand and leaves it at that.

We raise our beers simultaneously and readjust our numbing behinds on the hard pipeline. We take a sip from the cold beer and admire the view.

I think of the job that got me through my years at the academy. Whenever transport-lines are covered in snow, ice, or both, automated sentinels come to life and undo the obstruction. For years I've spend my nights watching over their performance, making sure Earths frantic traffic lines were kept safe. It was an easy job; boring to some, but not to me. In the absence of storm and frost, I would study or simply watch down on Earth. My station circled the planet in a low orbit and I was free to admire cities go to sleep and come back to life in early dawn. I'd see how people lived their lives, unaware of the great whole they took part in. I saw how traffic arteries exchanged their greyish tones for warm, starry nightlights, how the throbbing life of industry toned down and stations turned into impressive shapes of runway lights, guiding shuttles and ships safely to their designated dockingareas. Looking down on the world while not being a part of it, had given the planet an unatainable beauty. It might also have been the lack of sleep, regardless; I feel the same now. Voyager is an unreachable utopia. I look at it, I can even get close, but I'm unable to participate. Not really.

"Can I ask you someting?" I'm hesitant to ask, but I can't resist.

I had noticed their poor attempts at bluffing as we'd played poker but that hadn't prepared me for their bad acting with which they now tried to hide their curiosity. I can't help but laugh.

"It's okay, tell us." Tom tries.

I sigh in deliberation. "Have the captain and I ever..." They lean in so close I wonder how Harry can remain seated, looking at me from behind Tom. "...been close...?" No reaction "...or close...-er...?" I add.

"..wwhhyy..?" Tom's jaw hardly moved as he pronounced the word.

_"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god."_ I hear from my left. I turn to B'Ellanna and find she's covered her mouth with both hands. "Okay, what are you saying?" She turns almost business like as she flattens both hands on her knees. "Be specific..." she turns more casual as she realises her seriousness might cause me to fall silent. "...you know...why are you asking?"

"Like..." Harry says "...why would you ask about the captain... not... say..."

"...Seven?...or Megan Delaney?" Tom finishes his sentence. "..or..anyone else for that matter. You know...We're just..."

"...wondering." B'Ellanna finishes. "...out of genuine interest."

"..genuine interest." Toms repeats as he nodds and checks with Harry.

"Of course you are." I say. "..genuinely interested."

"What is it, Chakotay?" B'Ellanna asks. She's more sincere now.

"How would you define our relationship?" I ask. "Mine with the captains?"

They look at each other and seem to agree. Toms poses as spokesman as he says "...we we're wondering that ourselves."

"Something tells me my older self won't push her into letting her go of her guilt, her sense of duty." I say. "...-won't push her into telling me whether she's interested or not."

Harry silently reaches for another beer, but without moving his eyes off me, Tom pushes back his hand from the crate, not letting him interrupt me in my long awaited confession. Harry looks disgruntled but lets Tom get away with it.

"I don't know what these past seven years have been like, but now it only took me two weeks... or just a few days to be honest." I say.

B'Ellanna puts a flat hand on her chest and Tom nods at me as though I'm a toddler about to say my first whole sentence; long overdue.

"But.." I continue under close scrutiny of my friends "...I think I've fallen for her." I say plainly.

B'Ellanna balls her fists and looks upward as she exclaims "Yes!" while Harry buries his hands in his hair.

"I knew it!" Tom says.

"Oh, no you didn't, _you _thought it had taken too long by the time she'd reprogrammed Michael Sullivan." Harry corrects him.

Tom seems insulted by the idea "Michael Sullivan?! I was only _more_ sure of it then! She basically turned the man into him, all he lacked was the tattoo!" he strengthens his point by gesturing in my direction.

Harry shakes his head as he finally gets his beer. "...I win the bet and you know it."

"_Anyway,"_ B'Ellanna demands their attention "...does she even know?"

Not willing to share any details I simply say "She knows but she's...reluctant. She has her reasons."

"Hmm-mmm," B'Ellanna looks as though she were doctor Freud himself. "I'd thought so."

I feel relieved to have told them. I'm free of contraint. "I can't believe the effect she has on me. It's like..." They suck up every word I say like I was announcing winning lottery numbers. "..I can't stop thinking about her. She won't even see me though. She thinks it's bad for the crew." I sigh. "She thinks it's unfit for a captain and...just wrong in general."

"Perhaps," Toms starts "...you should..give her a little...nudge."

**Day 15, 23:18h.**

The liftdoor opens to reveal ensign Wildman. She seems to hold her breath as she says "I know you're in a hurry to get to the conduit." She's fidgeting with a ring on her finger as she continues "...and I know many of the crew have been convincing you to let Voyager get stranded...willingly." I think she's about to cry. "I feel you should be well informed." She explains. "Tarell is so happy to see Naomi with that Hirogen network...don't get me wrong, she's been so happy! She's had such a unique life! With Neelix and Seven and the captain and..."

"What are you saying, Samantha?" I ask.

"Let her father see her grow up. Let him witness her first steps, hear her first words, help her with her homework and advice her with her first love. Icheb didn't even notice her and Tarell, my husband, would have known exactly what to say." She inhales sharply and closes her eyes.

"Sam..." I start.

"I know you have many lives, many people to consider. I almost didnt but...I just _had_ to inform you of my life, my wish." A tear escapes her eye but she is quick to catch it.

"Sam, I don't..." she already heads down the corridor.

Making command decisions is not about making the right decisions, or the just ones. It's about making the least bad decisions. I just hope I'll have the courage, and the clarity, to do so.

**Day 15, 23:19h.**

Many crewmen had gathered in the shuttlebay. They'd been there to see me off, or perhaps to remind me of the possible choice I have to make for them. I'd said my goodbyes but my eyes kept looking for her. She hadn't been there and every time the shuttlebaydoors had opened I was left dissapointed.

Once we're on the shuttle, and I take my seat behind the helm, a padd lights up. I tap it to see its message.

...

From: K. E. Janeway, Captain

To: Chakotay, Commander

Time send: 23.20hrs.

Subject Matter: No Entry.

Message: Whatever happens - Find me.

...

I will. Whatever happens._ I will. _

Authors note: I don't have English spellcheck on the medieval thing I work on, I'm sorry! At work, people kill me for misspellings, I can only imagine how annoying it must be. Sorry, sorry, sorry! I try my best...


	10. Chapter 10

**Day 15, 00:42hrs.**

The silence is unbearable. Tom asked me to stop ticking the messagepadd against the connstation and all I can do now is read and re-read her message.

_Whatever happens -Find me._

It's short but her words hold a lot of meaning. She's an intelligent woman and she knows one of three things will happen: one; I don't remember, history will remain unchanged, two; I remember and keep Voyager from getting lost, or three; the scenario she dreads and begged me to prevent, where I remember but retreat my Val Jean into the Badlands none the less. It would mean her trusted Commander had lied to her, had let her feel guilty while he could easily have changed history_...and for what? Love? _

_Whatever happens -Find me_.

In four words she offers the perfect alternative: keep us home, prevent our meeting in the Delta-quadrant but find me none the less. She'll be engaged to Mark, settling into her rank as captain and far from open to a relationship with a fugitive. What would I tell her? _I'm the leader of a Maquis-cell but if things were different I'm sure we'd get along quite well. _No, I would have to leave the rebellion. I would have to drastically change my life to even physically get close to her, after all, it's not easy for Maquis-leaders to get into San Fransisco.

_Whatever happens -Find me_.

Then again, the explanation behind her message may be a lot more simple; who's to say our night doesn't have the same impact on her as it has on me? She might have wanted to seek me out in a last desperate and irrational act, even if at that point it could only be over an impersonal messagepadd. _Unlikely, but a nice thought. _

_Whatever happens -Find me_.

I let my head rest in my hands. Too many possibilities. I can only think in _'what ifs'_. It's giving me a headache.

The Doctor rudely pulls me out of my reverie "you'll wake up in a hospital bed in the Alpha Quadrant. B'Elanna will be at your side." He kneels down next to me and I quickly turn the padd up side down. "You'll be a young man! No grey hair! You'll have your whole life ahead of you!" He's too cheerful and doesn't understand the goodbye my departure entails. He hovers the detachable piece of his medical tricorder over me as I stare out the viewport and closely watch the distortion growing in size. _It's not a welcoming sight._ "You're body will wake up in sick bay, of course, I plan to keep you sedated until we're there." His forehead wrinkles together as he ponders on what's about to happen "..our Chakotay will probably just have a bad headache and wonder why the duty roster is such a mess." He shrugs it off and closes his tricorder.

The distortion is still opening and the green hue of the graviton radiation mingles with the blue tones of the transwarp conduit. _'No, spatial fissure_' Mortimer Harren would say, I might even miss that smug, self absorbed boor of a man. I snort at my nostalgia.

The doctor is still beside me and grows more serious as he says "Tell me Commander, is this a future you'd look forward to?" I note the genuine concern in his voice. _Who would have thought a hologram could evolve into such a thoughtful man? "_I find that many people don't wish to know their future. I myself would consider the sheer finality of it a great loss," he says,_ perhaps not so thoughtful after all "..._no more possibilities to entertain, no more fantasies to indulge in.." His hand moves with the elegance of a ballerina and his philosophical expression is one Socrates would have envied.

I don't answer him. I can only sigh.

He pats me on the shoulder and stands as he says "You'll be with us on Voyager in a couple of years, I'm sure you will." Even in the reflection of the window I can tell he fakes his enthusiasm.

"The distortion now has a diameter of ten meters." Harry says from behind his station.

I turn my chair and look at their faces; Tom, Harry and the Doctor. Optimism in their smiles, empathy in their eyes; they're glad it's not them having to leave this life and having to get back to a world of turmoil and distress.

"I better go to sleep then." I say as I drum my fingers on my armrests and take one last look at the padd. The doctor is already digging through a medkit as he says "I'll give you a sedative."

A boy in my class used to catch rabbits by letting in a ferret at one exit of their hole and awaiting them at another with an opened cage, I can sympathize with those rabbits now more than ever; I feel trapped and fight the urge to escape. My sister, Sekaya, and I had planted a paintbomb in one of the rabbitholes and for over a week the sadistic brat had been bluer than a Bolian. I however, can't be saved with a mere can of paint and a clumsy detonator.

_Whatever happens -Find me_.

I sigh. My thumb lingers on the button before I finally push 'delete message'. There, it's gone. My colleagues won't read it and her privacy is safe.

That's it. Nothing is keeping me here. I walk to the aft section of the shuttle where the biobed awaits as Tom and Harry pivot their chairs and follow me with their eyes. Even Tom doesn't know what to say.

"Yes," I admit to answer the Doctors earlier question with the door already open and one foot down the step "...most definitely a future to look forward to."


	11. Chapter 11

**Day 15, 00:59hrs, Alpha Quadrant, years ago. **

I've forgotten my dream. _Too bad,_ _I think it was a good one._

It's okay though. _She smells nice. _

Perhaps it wasn't even a dream, perhaps it was that drowsy state between sleeping and being awake.

I exhale and notice a human warmth on my bare skin. Her cheek feels glued to my chest; right under my collarbone, and her sultry breaths feel warm on my shoulder. In an attempt to enjoy the softness of the bed I squirm and bury myself deeper under the duvet. _I shouldn't have done that; her head weighs me down and my left arm is caught in some intricate web of tubes. _The movement leaves my chest tickled; her hair is spread across my upper body.

I'm reluctant to awaken; this bed is more comfortable than mine, back on the Val Jean. I hear snoring. _Ayala, stop it. _I didn't say that out loud. It's not Ayala though; this snorer softly moans as she exhales.

My unadjusted eyes open one at a time. The room is brighter than I had expected. _Definitely not the Val Jean. _

It takes an effort to coördinate my fingers towards the streaks of hair. My eyes feel swollen but I force my sight to sharpen none the less. The brightest of blonde hair finally comes into focus. I rub it between my thumb and fingers and notice green dyed streaks that I recognise instantly; Svetlana Korepanova.

_'...Sveta,' _my effort to speak results in nothing but an uncontrollable coughing fit. _I haven't spoken in a while, my vocal cords are flexible as stone. _

She jumps up. The skin her cheek had touched now feels cold and incomplete. I shiver.

"_Vassili!"_ her thick accent is a welcome familiarity "_Vassili, get in here!"_ Sveta's voice goes softer as she turns to me "...drink. It's good for you."

With a slender but muscled arm she pulls my neck up and forces a cold liquid into my mouth. As soon as the foul taste of alcohol hits my dry mouth I spurt out Sveta's idea of medication. "_Where am I?!"_ I look down at my left arm; tubes pierce my skin and brightly colored fluids mix with the blood in my veins. It's hard to breath through the coughs but I can't stop until the phlegm in my throat has cleared. I grumble and defend myself from her bottle and its strong smell; in one move I send it flying through the room.

I take in my dear, insane friend as I hear the clattering sound of glass breaking. _I've missed her. _She acknowledges her defeat and gives me time to cough and adjust to the fact that she's with me again.

Despite her symmetrical face, full lips and the fact that she pays great attention to her appearance, one wouldn't consider Sveta to be feminine. She's a sight to remember though; in the absence of womanly curves her colourless skin accentuates her bones and muscles while narrow hips and broad shoulders resemble those of an athlete. With her height of at least six feet, she towers over me and her blonde hair is so long its ends touch my abdomen as I lie on the bed. Green streaks match her eyes and she wears it to one side to show a razored area above her ear. A row of dark, studded piercings adorns her earlobe. I had actually made one of the punctures after she'd bet I wouldn't dare -s_uch fools we were._ Her lips are red as blood and contrast her pale skin. When she smiles, a tiny diamond on one of her front teeth is uncovered. She had gotten it from a Ferengi and considered it such a feat that she decided to wear it forever. A tattooed saying written in Russian runs from her pierced ear down her neck and follows the line of her collarbone over her shoulder all the way to her wrist. Once, a long time ago, I had asked her for its meaning. She'd told me it says 'little thieves are hanged, but great ones escape' _-_or some Russian equivalent thereof. It's Sveta's motto, no doubt, for she is indeed a thief and a criminal and by no means a little one.

Her presence calms me though. It's been too long. We ought to do more missions together.

"Where am I?" I ask again.

"Earth. You are in southwestern Siberia, east of the Ural mountains." She looks exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Her red lip quivers. The brown jacket that had somehow become the uniform of the Maquis is cast aside and she only wears a baggy shirt that looks like it was used to check the oil in some vintage car. It's neck hole is ripped and leaves her shoulder bare.

"You are in the care of the best doctor in the quadrant..." she says proudly "..my brother. He got you back." She has tears in her eyes.

"What happened?" I'm desperate for answers.

"We were hoping _you_ could tell us." She turns towards the door again "_Vassili!"_ I cringe as she yells something in Russian and take the chance to look around. The room is dim-lit and windowless. Mine is the only bed. Brown walls make it look sombre and dirty; it feels like a cave. _Come to think of it: I'm in a Siberian hideout, a cave isn't very unlikely._

"Take me to a real hospital." I'm annoyed.

"No problem," she says dryly "...do you want me to cuff you or shall I let some Starfleet official do the honor?" I ease back into the pillows as she sits down next to the bed - _is she_ _frustrated with my lack of gratitude? _We've always been like magnets. I'm just not sure if we have the same polarization or not.

"Trust me, they'll take care of you here, you're no _real_ Maquis warrior until my brother has patched you up." She squeezes my hand "no insurance needed."

"That's assuring." I say. She ignores my cynicism. "What happened, were we attacked?" I ask.

"No," she reconsiders "well, the Val Jean was, but _after_ you went into a coma. You have been out for two weeks. B'Elanna contacted me; your medic had no idea what to do with you."

"B'Elanna?" I ask hopefully "She's here?"

"She won't be happy you ruined her diluted _nektai_, but yes, she is."

"Wh-...what?" Sveta was never the motherly type but I need her to give me more time to process all the information.

"...it was some rare brew, bound to make you better!" Sveta treats the shattered glass to a forlorn look. "...actually contacted her Klingon mother to send her the concoction."

"Well, _where_ is she now?" My arm itches where the tubes pierce the skin and I'm growing impatient.

Sveta answers only with a raised finger as a loud stumbling arises from the next room.

She turns back to me and plainly says "_I_ like her."

_"...Qa'Hom...IN there!...PetaQ...long due...quack!..." _We can hardly hear her over the violent sounds and a loud thud tells me B'Elanna is ruining what little instruments this shady hospital has.

"My brother however..." Sveta shakes her head "...not so much."

The door is almost thrown off its hinges as it slams open and finally reveals my friend; B'Elanna. She barges in looking like she just came from the battlefield; hair tousled, phaser high on the hip, heels at least five inches high and breathing as heavily as a Vulcan going through Pon Farr. She exhales as she pronounces my name "..._Chakotay..."_

She's at my bed in only a few strides and presses a short kiss on my cheekbone before wrapping me into a tight embrace. I see Sveta's lopsided grin as I look over B'Elanna's shoulder and lay a hand on the small of her back.

"You're awake." B'Elanna's words are supposed to convince herself, and perhaps me to. "You're awake."

A short man with boyish curls and two balled fists comes walking through the open door and I can tell from his face that it was probably he who B'Elanna was harassing. His white coat tells me he's a doctor, his Russian exclamations directed at Sveta tell me he's her brother; doctor Vassili Korepanov. Both the coat and the exclamations do him no good; the women ignore him. Vassili won't have it and tears B'Elanna off me as he lays his two hands flat on my face. "Whats wrong with me?" I try but I can't get trough to him. He's mere inches from me as he pulls my eyelids apart and stares into my pupils but he makes no real eye contact and keeps yelling in Russian. Something is obviously very wrong and he's not happy with the way Sveta is handling it. _I wonder if he even speaks English. _Sveta tries to calm him as he shuts down outdated medical devices and removes the tubes from my arm. The raging doctor wouldn't have been my first choice for the task but he seems the do a nice job; despite the curt hand gestures he directs at his sister his short fingers manage to handle me with care.

"You must leave!" I'm startled as I finally recognise some of his words and he rips a piece of tape off my wrist. "Now!"

"_Dasvidanya!" That I know; he's said his goodbye. _Sveta replies him with an informal "_Poka_," and waves him off with an indifference only a sibling can muster up.

"Four Federation vessels are closing in on Siberia," she explains oddly calm as she switches into a business-like combat mode "some nearby anomaly is oozing graviton radiation. We must leave before the Val Jean shows up on their sensors."

Sveta puts on her jacket and collects our things while B'Elanna attends to what she deems to be the priority at this moment; "Well?!" she asks me, still astounded at my sudden consciousness "...are you okay?"

I can't blame her for her concern; we've been through a lot worse together, it's hard to stress over four vessels when either of us might be hurt.

"You know who I am?" I nod.

"Can you remember anything?" Her eyes tell me she wants an answer while her hands fuss over me. She shoves a phaser in my baggy trousers and helps me find my balance. _I feel like an eighty-year-old._

I let my eyes drift away from hers as I dig through my memory.

_There was a woman. What was her name? She was beautiful. _

"Do you remember Corsica?" B'Elanna tries and struggles to get a vest on me "...two weeks ago?"

_Her toes had been curled with pleasure, her nails had been buried in my back. _

_A face slowly starts to take shape but might still vanish as quickly as it came. _

_Hold on to it. _

_Don't get distracted. _

"...you had spent the night off the ship?" I gesture for B'Elanna to let me think.

_Think!_

_It's coming to me. _

_We had spent an insane, forbidden night on her magnificent ship. _

"Do you remember?" B'Elanna holds my upper arms, if she'd have more strength it might actually offer support.

"Yes."

_How could I forget?_

"Let's go!" With a travelpack over her shoulder and her holster belted around her waist, Sveta gestures us to follow her and leaves the room. "Now!" she yells over her shoulder.

"Well?" B'Elanna needs an answer.

I raise my hands to her arms to mirror her position and I don´t know if she holds me, or if I hold her. Regardless, we give each other strength. We keep our eyes tightly locked as she lets go only for a short moment to whipe a teardrop off her chin. It´s to no use; she can't stop the flow. Quickly, as though I were hanging off a precipice, she grabs my vest and clenches its fabric. With balled fists she repeatedly nudges the insides of my shoulders, as though she can't believe I'm awake. I feel her sharply pulling at my vest. _It's not my vest, I've never seen it before._ She shakes her head in disbelief and moves her lips to undo a watery buildup of tears in the corners of her mouth.

"I'm all right, B'Elanna." I've hurt her. My being in danger had hurt her.

She nods and looks down. I know she can't speak up because her voice would crack and her strong mask would shatter.

"Your memory?" She whispers.

_That face. Her ship. That crazy, forbidden night. _

_How could I forget? _

_What was her name?_

"_Elena," _I say finally "Two weeks ago I spend the night with her on her husband's sailship. It's like it happened yesterday. After that, _nothing."_

B'Elanna smiles knowingly and squeezes my arms.

"My head's fine" I gently shake her shoulders "_I'm fine." _

"How about _now_?!" Sveta yells from the corridor and sounds distant.

We chuckle and realise we're a team again; back in business and ready to go. We got through it. _Again._

Before we run after Sveta and into our next fight we tighten the grip we have on each other one last time and with strength and affirmation in her eyes she tells me

"Welcome back."

**Day 15, 00:59hrs, Delta Quadrant, 2378.**

_"Commander!"_

"Woah, Doc, there's no hurry, give him time." Tom and the Doctor are welcome barriers from the bright light above the biobed. _I'd rather have they dimmed it than hover over me though. _

"Commander," the Doctor tries in a softer voice "...you are in sickbay, you are in good health, you've been..." He turns his head to Tom "...what has he been?"

"Your consciousness has been..._suppressed..._for two weeks." _Paris; always creative with words. _

They look at each other and seem to be in agreement; they're content with their preliminary explanation of events.

I groan and rub my eyes.

"So? What happened?" I sit up and I'm glad to find the duo doesn't stop me. _It's always a good sign if they let you sit. _

The men in front of me both have their arms crossed and their heads tilted towards each other. It's almost as if _they _expect an explanation from _me._

"So.." Tom repeats after me "..do you...have anything to say..." he waves his hand in circles as he searches for words "...oh, I don't know...about the last two weeks, perhaps? Do you remember anything out of the ordinary?"

"How about," I step down from the bed and copy them by crossing my arms as I continue in my most demanding tone "..._you_ tell _me_ what I'm doing here?"

They share a look and an understanding.

"Sit down, Commander," They both put a hand on my shoulder and guide me backwards to the bed until I bump against it "...we'll tell you _everything_."


End file.
